Aaron unpacked his record player first, setting it on the floor as he had no furniture to place it upon. "Ah Chopin. My only friend," he muttered as he pulled out his record and set it playing. He turned the volume up as loud as it could go and blasted Chopin's Waltz No. 5 in A flat major. The neighbors may not like it, but hey, who doesn't like Chopin?

"Ha. What neighbors?" he thought. The only person he'd met so far was Marjorie, the woman he'd seen hanging around the first floor early on the morning he moved in. She was carrying a box of what seemed to be loads of laundry and inspecting the moldy walls outside what must have been her apartment. "I wonder what her story is," he thought. "She get kicked out too?" Maybe everyone in this whole blasted apartment building is only here because they can't stay anywhere else.

He let his thoughts return to the music, fully submitting his senses to the fluttering alto line and the hammering melody. One thing he enjoyed doing more than pretending to be British was pretending to be musical. Aaron had no rhythmic or musical talent whatsoever, but his facade of having a great appreciation for classical music tended to make people take him more seriously. "Maybe the neighbors will want to come over for tea sometime to discuss Brahms," he mused. "Or maybe they'll just want me to shut up."