Tuesday, April 06, 2004
(March 2, 2004)
There is always a sound of air blowing somewhere. I sit at my desk, and I hear it overhead. Oxygen and temperature control. Sounds, I hear so many sounds. This morning, standing at the sink: water rushing through the pipes, the stool sliding across the tiled floor, and a high pitched electronic buzz nearby. My shoes in a sharp staccato on the wood floor, muffling on the pavement as I go to open my car door. The engine turning and grating, it starts, then that obnoxious loose belt starts it’s ringing, squealing complaining. I turn up the volume on the car stereo, and the thumping bass makes my butt vibrate. Thinking of that asshole the other night, rushing me to turn right on red, his car horn honking repeatedly. I raised my arm and let my finger shout back at him.
Walking the fire escape stairs to floor 19, my rings tapping on the metal railing. I hum as I walk, good acoustics in here. Another mumbled “hello” from the secretary that sits there. She’s already seen me many times today. The heels on my shoes announce my presence in the hall. The voices I overhear as I pass each room are very rarely worth listening to. Somewhere a phone rings. I want to go sit in the stairwell and sing.
There is always a sound of air blowing somewhere. I sit at my desk, and I hear it overhead. Oxygen and temperature control. Sounds, I hear so many sounds. This morning, standing at the sink: water rushing through the pipes, the stool sliding across the tiled floor, and a high pitched electronic buzz nearby. My shoes in a sharp staccato on the wood floor, muffling on the pavement as I go to open my car door. The engine turning and grating, it starts, then that obnoxious loose belt starts it’s ringing, squealing complaining. I turn up the volume on the car stereo, and the thumping bass makes my butt vibrate. Thinking of that asshole the other night, rushing me to turn right on red, his car horn honking repeatedly. I raised my arm and let my finger shout back at him.
Walking the fire escape stairs to floor 19, my rings tapping on the metal railing. I hum as I walk, good acoustics in here. Another mumbled “hello” from the secretary that sits there. She’s already seen me many times today. The heels on my shoes announce my presence in the hall. The voices I overhear as I pass each room are very rarely worth listening to. Somewhere a phone rings. I want to go sit in the stairwell and sing.
