It wasn't just an occasional thing either, you'd know when one was about to start. The oppressive, choking climate would begin to drift down like mustard gas, the air static with anticipation. Then it would happen, the wrong thing would be said, the side-wards glance would be glanced and the wailing, crashing orchestra would start up again. Another night of these vile symponies that boomed through the floorboards and shook the ceiling, lightbulb dancing about on its naked wire like a drunken reveller to the music of these desperate souls self destruction.