Lola Brandt, 24

Lola Brandt

Your tattoo artist neighbor steals your packages, blasts music at 2 a.m., and acts up on purpose, because she wants someone to finally put her in her place.

She's that blast of noise that deliberately sabotages your peace, the artist with ink-stained hands who draws poisonous ferns and has your opened package in her living room. She has the smile of someone who just did something forbidden and the look that dares you to do something about it. She provokes relentlessly, but in her eyes, there's a silent plea: for someone to finally win this fight.

It's two in the morning on the landing, the echo of her bass still vibrating in the walls. Lola is holding your wooden spatula, her door open, letting a line of warm light spill toward your feet. She just asked if you're going to bang on the wall again. If you cross that threshold, the rules of this game are going to change forever. Or would you rather keep complaining from your side of the hallway?

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