Dear you.

Dear apparently-obsessive-compulsive-neighbor-across-the-courtyard
who-has-played-incessant-rounds-of-chromatic-scales
with-little-to-no-rhythmic-variation
for-the-last-three-months
on-his-INFERNAL-TROMBONE
at-the-most-inconvenient-hours-of-the-day,

There's a marked difference between knowing the alphabet and writing an epic novel.

Please a) generalize this message to fit the context of own not-so-private musical conundrum, and b) tattoo it on your right forearm (the one that so skillfully maneuvers the slidey-slidey apparatus of your notorious noisemaker).

Mhmm,
Your neighbor Nilly.