MCA #4, Sunday Afternoon
And so he was in the apartment, laying on his back on the living room floor, staring up at the ceiling and singing 'Baby Shark' to himself in a fit of boredom.
Loudly.
Give him ten minutes and he'd go find his tin whistle and try to figure out how to play it on that, next.
[OOC: Open for texts, phone calls, other people in the building who just want to stop hearing 'doo doo doo doo' through the walls, whatever!]
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