New York is a city of constants. Subway snarls are a constant. Traffic is a constant. Noise is a constant. (There are good constants, of course, but why brighten the mood unnecessarily?)

One of New York’s many constants are neighbors. Truly a city of cohabitation, no New Yorker is exempt from having or being a neighbor. Even the richest people in the biggest penthouses of the ugliest high rises in Manhattan have neighbors.

I live on a block of classic Ridgewood two-family rowhouses, in the second-floor unit, so I’ve also got neighbors. Some of them are good, some of them are great, but one set of them …