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The Hills

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The second floor, the administration of the Hills. A big, echoey room, that you would expect to be painted greyly, but on the contrary, it featured four walls and each wall painted in a different designs, not matching it their shapes or colours. Each wall had been done by one of the original 4 groups of residents. Firstly there was an elegant part, painted in black and red, with very coordinated shapes in it’s bottom two sides. This was painted by the two oldest residents, both in age and time they had lived there. Ozzy and Sharon Osborne. This part mixed, slightly non harmonically with another, this one slightly more colourful, but elegantly coordinated despite it’s various colours and designs. The artists were the next door residents to the last, 903, a band called Queen. The next was even more colourful than the last, but this feature a huge drawing of Apollo in it, his figure painted not only with talent, but generosity in certain parts. This was painted by the two friends and talented artists in 902, Elton John and George Michael. The previous, served as a transition for the final wall and the most psychedelic and not coordinated, yet perfectly sync painting. The colours mixed in weird shapes that let the imagination wander a bit in some parts. Apartment 904 painted this, a band formed by four lads from Liverpool, that had moved to London to start recording and try to earn their deserved fame. The Beatles.

Still, these were just the original residents. Right now all the residents, well the ones that bothered to come, were sitting on the floor, which featured a bunch of multicoloured rugs as it’s cover. They chatted among themselves , throwing spiky looks around the room, between serious people, when with a clearing a her throat Sharon made the talking slowly mute it self.

Her husband mumbled a bunch of random curse words as he went quickly and without paying attention through the little bunch of papers in his wrinkled hands. -Everyone is here so, let's start-

-but the pe-

- shut the fuck up Bono.- he spoke without looking up as he tried to remember what the topic of the reunion were. -Sharon, luv, what... What were you gonna talk about here?

-The noise darling.- Sharon whispered to him affectionately.

-What noise? -Ozzy looked confused at her.

-Leave it to me, darling. -She gave him a little kiss on the cheek and rubbed his arm as she turned to the others that had started to talk again. -Everyone! We are here to take care if a little issue that has been complained about. The noise problem.

Sharon was suddenly interrupted by an old, American man that put his fat and wrinkled finger up in the air as he spoke. -Yes, baby, these little wannabes keep making an incredible, uhhh amount of noise and I ,uhhh, need my beauty sleep, alright?

-It’s not working. -Whispered Ozzy, not so quietly to Sharon, earning a very heated look from the old, fat, greased up Elvis. Coming into the conversation were the other part of the argument, the young residents of the 9th floor.

-It’s not our fault that your fat arse doesn’t know how to party anymore! -Said one of the auburn haired, hazel eyed and hawk nosed young man from 904, earning a nod from the slightly darker haired, light hazel eyed and puppy dog eyed young man that was lying in his lap, playing on his iphone.

-Yes, darling, John is spot on. I bet that fat queen is just jealous. -This time the one to speak was one of the men who lived on 903. The heavy moustached, dark eyed, carbon hairy indian man, the talented singer of the band and close friend to the previous speaker. Freddie.

-Look here young man! You should have uhh more respect! -Elvis grew red as another young man, this time the slightly ginger and thin hairy, buck-toothed man that shared the flat 901 with one of his closest friends. -Yeah Aretha thought so too.

Both Elton and his close friend and flatmate George Michael laughed along with the rest of the gang from the 9th floor, making Elvis, the owner of the whole floor above them grow redder and redder, looking as though he was just about to explode when Sharon spoke up. -Now, behave boys! How about we try to keep things quiet? Just after 2am, alright?.

- 2AM! but my-

-Shut up you fucking fat pig! My wife is fucking speaking you cunt! -Old Ozzy used his extensive vocabulary to shut the other old man, not failing to make him turn bright red, almost purple in anger.

-So, it’s settled then, after 2 am no more messing about. Okay lads?. -Sharon spoke in a motherly voice to her next door neighbours.

-What about my moon rituals? -Asked one of the residents of 701, a brunet with a ratter potato nose and big mouth called Roger Waters. -I need to sing to mother moon to keep my spirit aligned and creativity flowing.

Sharon thought for a bit as Elvis threw her a spiky look, soon clicking her tongue and speaking again. -oh you can do that, just try to keep it down, okay?

Elvis opened his mouth again in anger, but as everyone in the room threw him looks, wanting to leave one of their longest meetings yet already, he groaned and stood up -with difficulty, but never the less making a scene- and left angrily.

Ozzy smiled in his sleepy way. -Well I guess this fuckery is over. Time for a fucking cuppa.-