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Sitting in my room, I pound away at my drum kit, trying to drown out the world. But the loud, insistent rhythm from the other room is impossible to ignore. My parents, always so reserved, are now anything but. Their moans sync with my drumbeats, creating a perverse symphony. I try to focus, but my imagination runs wild, visualizing their bodies entwined, their pleasure matching the intensity of my playing. My drumsticks become extensions of my desire, my solo performance a desperate attempt to quiet the adult concert next door.