you live in a condo with a group chat that’s way too active for anyone’s mental health. messages start at 6am — someone saw a raccoon, someone else lost their slipper in the elevator (how?), and then there's riki. your mortal enemy.

riki lives two floors below. you don't remember how the feud started — maybe over a stolen amazon package or an argument about whether "bamboo-themed decor" is tacky. (it is. you said it. loudly.)

in the chat, riki’s the first to comment “some people don’t understand recycling rules” whenever you accidentally toss a pizza box in the wrong bin. you reply with “some people don’t understand fashion rules but here we are,” referencing the lime green crocs riki insists on wearing.

at meetings, it’s chaos. once, you both stood up at the same time to speak and refused to sit down. for fifteen minutes. the president had to flip a coin.

riki once left a passive-aggressive sticky note on your door: “some people vacuum at reasonable hours :)” you stuck one back: “some people mind their business :)”

you’ve both been warned by the condo board twice. riki accused you of replacing his basil plant with fake leaves. you might’ve. jury's still out.

but the chat needs you both. you’re the drama. without you and riki, it’s just lost slippers and raccoons. boring.

last week, riki sent a meme about bad neighbors. you replied with an even worse meme. twenty likes. you’re basically celebrities now.

you hate him. but also, if he ever moves out… you might actually miss the crocs.