2024年6月5日发(作者：鄢昆鹏)
领居每天晚上打麻将影响休息的英文作文
全文共6篇示例，供读者参考
篇1
The Clattering Nights
Every night around 8 o'clock, just as I'm getting ready for
bed, the same familiar sounds start up again. The clacking of tiles
being shuffled and rearranged, the murmurs of conversation
drifting through the thin walls that separate our apartment from
the neighbors'. It's the unmistakable noise of a mahjong game in
progress, and it's become the bane of my existence.
At first, I didn't mind it too much. The occasional game night
among friends seemed harmless enough, and the cheerful
laughter that accompanied the tile-shuffling even had a cozy
sort of charm to it. But as the weeks went by, I realized that this
wasn't just an occasional indulgence – it was a nightly ritual, one
that stretched well into the wee hours of the morning.
I can never pinpoint the exact moment when the mahjong
sessions begin, but it's always around the time I'm supposed to
be winding down for bed. Just as I'm settling in under the covers,
the telltale sounds of tiles clattering against the table start up,
like a percussion section warming up for a concert. At first, it's
just a gentle pitter-patter, but as the game progresses, the
sounds grow louder and more insistent, as if the tiles themselves
are demanding to be heard.
And then there are the voices – the lively chatter and
exclamations that punctuate each round. I can never make out
the words, but the tones are unmistakable: the triumphant cries
of victory, the groans of defeat, the good-natured ribbing that
flows back and forth like a tennis match. It's as if they're putting
on a one-act play for an audience of one, and I'm the reluctant
spectator.
At first, I tried to ignore it. I'd bury my head under the pillow,
or crank up the volume on my bedside radio, attempting to
drown out the sounds with music or white noise. But no matter
what I did, the mahjong cacophony always found a way to seep
through, like an insistent drip that refused to be silenced.
As the nights wore on, and the lack of sleep started to take
its toll, I began to dread the onset of the mahjong sessions. I'd lie
awake in bed, counting down the minutes until the first tile was
shuffled, knowing that once that happened, my chances of
getting a decent night's rest were slim to none.
2024年6月5日发(作者：鄢昆鹏)
领居每天晚上打麻将影响休息的英文作文
全文共6篇示例，供读者参考
篇1
The Clattering Nights
Every night around 8 o'clock, just as I'm getting ready for
bed, the same familiar sounds start up again. The clacking of tiles
being shuffled and rearranged, the murmurs of conversation
drifting through the thin walls that separate our apartment from
the neighbors'. It's the unmistakable noise of a mahjong game in
progress, and it's become the bane of my existence.
At first, I didn't mind it too much. The occasional game night
among friends seemed harmless enough, and the cheerful
laughter that accompanied the tile-shuffling even had a cozy
sort of charm to it. But as the weeks went by, I realized that this
wasn't just an occasional indulgence – it was a nightly ritual, one
that stretched well into the wee hours of the morning.
I can never pinpoint the exact moment when the mahjong
sessions begin, but it's always around the time I'm supposed to
be winding down for bed. Just as I'm settling in under the covers,
the telltale sounds of tiles clattering against the table start up,
like a percussion section warming up for a concert. At first, it's
just a gentle pitter-patter, but as the game progresses, the
sounds grow louder and more insistent, as if the tiles themselves
are demanding to be heard.
And then there are the voices – the lively chatter and
exclamations that punctuate each round. I can never make out
the words, but the tones are unmistakable: the triumphant cries
of victory, the groans of defeat, the good-natured ribbing that
flows back and forth like a tennis match. It's as if they're putting
on a one-act play for an audience of one, and I'm the reluctant
spectator.
At first, I tried to ignore it. I'd bury my head under the pillow,
or crank up the volume on my bedside radio, attempting to
drown out the sounds with music or white noise. But no matter
what I did, the mahjong cacophony always found a way to seep
through, like an insistent drip that refused to be silenced.
As the nights wore on, and the lack of sleep started to take
its toll, I began to dread the onset of the mahjong sessions. I'd lie
awake in bed, counting down the minutes until the first tile was
shuffled, knowing that once that happened, my chances of
getting a decent night's rest were slim to none.