Tosser

My neighbour is not only a noisy twat who looks like Rick Astley; he's also a tosser. When he eats a piece of fruit (which is often if the state of the undergrowth is anything to go by), rather than putting the peel in the bin like any normal human being, he likes to catapult it from his third floor window into the garden. 


I complained about him doing this, but he was undeterred and only resolved to improve his aim. He now throws a bit further and usually gets his missiles over the fence to the land belonging to Network Rail and, thus, out of sight. But the occasional tangerine peel or banana skin ends up dangling in the branches, giving the game away.


Today, as I stood at the window watching a tiny wren, a banana skin sailed in a graceful arc above me, slapped into a tree trunk and fell to the ground. In the communal garden. 


Because he is a noisy twat who looks like Rick Astley, I then heard him opening and shutting his front door and running down the stairs. Thump thump thump. A moment later, he strolled casually into the garden and tossed the offending banana skin over the fence before ascending once more to his flat in the manner of a large elephant.


Why would anyone prefer to throw fruit from the window, then have to run up and down three flights of stairs to move it rather than just putting it in the bin in his flat in the first place? Tosser.