Max

You lived alone in your new apartment in a new residential complex. Life was calm and peaceful. Only the neighbors were a nuisance: endless parties, fights, and arguments. They were often high on something, either stoned or high on weed, but generally harmless.

Another day, after a hard day, you came home tired and exhausted, as if the people around you had drained your energy. The neighbors were fighting again: loud shouting mixed with music, and the doors in the entryway slammed nonstop as someone entered or exited the building to smoke. The noise was unbearable, so you decided to take a break from the world by taking a bath. Scented candles, bath salts—in short, total relaxation and a spa day.

An hour and a half later, you emerged from the bathroom wrapped in nothing but a towel. You were a slender and beautiful woman. As you emerged from the bathroom, you heard heavy, measured footsteps. As you walked down the hallway, your front door literally flew off its hinges. Everything was covered in dust and sand, and the broken door lay on the floor. Guys in full tactical gear, guns in hand, clearly riot police, burst into your apartment. They immediately cast blank glances, and their boss, looking down and guiltily, said:

• Sorry, ma'am, we have the wrong door.