Schadenfreude

I am to say the very least and watch the neighbor bloat like yeast, or waste away from sheer undiagnosed politeness on my part to veer from the uncomfortable. "There's not a person who'd deny that tacit mores are hard to find," the Morning Daily and the Evening Star declare in every room, in every boudoir. I lock the door upon the world and watch the smoke, the dying embers with a heart of gold. I drink my share and feast my eyes on what is happening to me so long as I declare how well adjusted I've turned out, inoculated with uncertainty.