A horn beeping, high and gentle, "I am here." The whoosh of cars passing below. The light is now red. Birds chirping on the fire escape. The screech of ungreased subway wheels entering the station. A car alarm. The 104 bus beeping as it lowers to let people enter it's open door. The engine chugs as it pulls away from the corner, then idles at the red light. A man whistles for someone. The lock of a delivery truck is unlatched and the door swings up. A woman laughs. A car beeps, not honks. Another train into the station, rumbling quietly, not screeching. A drill from the construction sight next door. A truck honks, now a car. Another distant honk. The whoosh of vehicles passing. A truck chugs as it pulls away. Red light quiet. A train pulls out of the undergound station. A car alarm, distant for a few moments. A bird chirps. A car starts up. A voice cries out to someone else. The light turns green. The cars start, a heavy truck passes. Someone calls out in Spanish. The air brakes of another bus. Over and over. Etc.
I live in a fifth floor apartment on Broadway and 104th Street in New York City.
Sometimes it is quiet but now it is 9:45 in the morning and people are moving.
It is amazing how I can filter out the sounds without thinking.
Peter Sylvester
psylvester@nyc.rr.com
USA
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