7/18 6:40am

Shit. Shit shit shit. I don’t know what’s worse. Sitting in this cramped playroom, the ever increasing mass of open mouths below me, or the the Mexican gang-banger rap.

Spent the night up here. Didn’t really have a choice, given that the entire homeowner’s association is heading this way. Must be a hundred of them closing in. I don’t dare move. Don’t want to give the slavering meatsacks any more incentive to pile on top of one another and drag me down. Their moaning and groaning is seriously getting to me. It’s like listening to a sea filled with piranhas, every hour bringing the tide lapping closer to my toes.

I could’ve dosed myself some more of Mrs. Baker’s never ending supply of sleep aids, but I don’t think they would’ve helped. Besides, the thought of rolling over in my sleep, out of the fort and into the crowd of moaners scared scared me stiff. If any other living soul was here, we could've slept in shifts. But Rob’s moaner munchies now.

I didn’t think I could get more keyed up, until I heard the music start up about fifteen minutes ago.

I can see the car where the Latino bass is blasting from now. A huge black suburban, complete with tinted windows and drive-by ready moonroof, making it’s way into the neighborhood.