My name is Luka. I live on the second floor. I live upstairs from you. Yes I think you've seen me before. If you hear something late at night: some kind of trouble, some kind of fight. Just don't ask me what it was.
I think it's because I'm clumsy. I try not to talk too loud. Maybe it's because I'm crazy. I try not to act too proud. They only hit until you cry, after that you don't ask why. You just don't argue anymore.
Yes I think I'm okay. I walked into the door again. Well, if you ask that's what I'll say and it's not your business anyway. I guess I'd like to be alone with nothing broken, nothing thrown. Just don't ask me how I am.
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