I stared at the blank page in front of me. After four hours of torture, I knew I was chasing the horizon - I'd make no progress as long as that no good jackass across the street kept screaming like he'd stuck a cactus up his ass. To be fair (not that I want to be) it wasn't him screaming per se - it was his patients. The nut was a dentist who liked to drill a little too deep or go a little too light on the Novocaine. The only time his clinic wasn't an explosion of screams - and therefore the only time I could consistently write - was on Saturdays. Saturdays were reserved for the clients that kept him in business.
My pen met paper for two words in a row before another screech erupted from the place, breaking my concentration and sending my pen skittering across the page. It was the random timing that was the worst part - anyone can ignore regular phenomena, but the bursts of noise at unknown intervals was torture, plain and simple.