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1

THURSDAY

I hadn’t lived in my new crib for long when, one night, I came home from work to some wretchedly loud pounding from the apartment above. We’re talkin’ bowling-alley loud, my friends. Figuring that it was some lucky couple knockin’ boots, I tried to ignore the percussive barrage the first few times. But then late one night (like, witching-hour late)—after I’d donned my jammies and crawled into bed with David Lee Roth’s Crazy From the Heat—the banging commenced again. “Jesus H. Christ!” I sputtered—it had been a particularly crappy day—and headed out the door and up the stairs. Now, I’m all for folks’ gettin’ busy, but this was pretty ridiculous. So there I was, knockin’ on the door, when out stepped a charming young woman resplendent in a frilly flamenco dress and leather heels. “Was my dancing bothering you?” she asked. It’s possible, but unlikely, that my neighbor is participating in María Pagés Dance Company’s performance, but I might go just to find out. La Tirana goes up at 8 p.m. at George Washington University’s Lisner Auditorium, 730 21st St. NW. $20-$30. (202) 994-6800. (Brent Burton)