Knock, Knock.

At 12:30am this morning I was awakened by my door buzzer going off (it's very loud and sing-song-y), I was very confused and was going to ignore whoever it was when I looked at the little screen on the wall and saw it was the police. I stumbled around, half awake trying to get my barrings and figure out why they were outside my door at 12:30 in the morning. I got dressed and (as I'm a curious, law-abiding person) checked on what they were after. They only knew a few words of English, they were, "Do you speak Korean?" "A man," and "falling." After a few seconds of me looking confused and them not knowing what else to say, they went on their way.

I went back to sleep trying to figure out what this meant. If someone had fallen, it'd be simple enough to find the body, and they couldn't be knocking on every apartment on all fifteen floors.

This morning, I asked my co-workers and they suggested the guy who previously lived in my apartment--the one who left me a crutch, a shot of Johnny Walker Red, lots of dirty things (tissues, bandages, cotton swabs, walls with mysterious brown markings I will say was curry or chocolate for my own sanity), and other such nonsense--was who the cops were after. Turns out, Paul (the previous occupant of the room) was in a bar fight and that's how he broke his leg. This bar fight was against a group of Korean Americans who (this is all told from the point of view of those who were friends with Paul) ganged up on him and pushed him down the stairs, breaking his leg. Paul filed a law suit. The group filed a law suit. The cops knock on my door at 12:30am asking about a man falling.

Yay.

Why 12:30am? Surely there are more convenient times for police business.