Mr. Jordan was the drunk who lived next door. He was a very quiet man but seemed very nice except when he drank, which was most of the time. The only way I knew he was at home was that he started throwing his empty wine bottles against the walls. Because I understood Mr. Jordan's situation, I usually said nothing when he threw his bottles. Mr. Jordan hardly ever spoke to me, but I always knew when he came home because I heard those crashing bottles that sounded as though they were coming through the walls. Sometimes there were the sounds of voices coming through the walls as if someone was singing and talking. I didn't ever see anyone go into Mr. Jordan's apartment except Mr. Jordan, so I guessed he just sang and talked to himself. Mr. Jordan was the kind of person who seemed to get along fine as long as he had his wine and himself for company.