You're home, alone and friendless on New Years. In a fit of rage, you through the remote through the TV and disturb the nutty old guy from downstairs. The rest is up to you.
The ball drops, the confetti flies and the rosy-cheeked, stocking capped crowd bursts out into a cheer. The camera pans over the sea of people and comes in for a close up of a young couple kissing. You switch off the TV, cutting the couple off in mid-smooch. But it's too late; their little moment of perfection is burned into your skull with the red-hot brand of your own failure. You see her again, her eyes worried, but determined and you hear the word "unstable" pass her lips.
You let loose a shout and, before your brain can process what's going on, you lunge forward over the scarred coffee table and launch the remote. It rockets through the TV screen with a crash, sending shards of glass and sparks of electricity flying in all directions.
An avalanche of curses bursts from your lips, barreling down through the floor and into the apartment below. The crazy old bastard who lives there spits curses right back up at you and bangs the end of a broom beneath your feet.
"Shaddup up there, you rotten little louse!" he screams.
Enraged, you stomp on the floor right over his head, "Shut up and mind your own damn business!"
"You snivelly pile o' tripe! I oughta come up there and..."
"What? Gum me to death, you toothless old bastard!?" you scream. You hear doors opening in the hall outside and a medley of mumbling punctuated by calls of "shut up!"
There's a grumbling down below and then the slamming of a door. ‘Great,' you think, ‘just what I need tonight.'
Minutes later there's a loud rapping at your door and Old Crazy is yelling something about wringing your scrawny neck if you don't answer the door.
"Open up!" he shouts, "Open up and face me like a man, ya little pansy girl!"
The complaints outside your door are growing louder and you know it won't be long before someone calls the cops.