soundwalk

I spent an hour walking around the area near my apartment in Astoria.

As I walked out of the building, there was an overwhelming sound of gusting wind. For a second, the constant neighborhood noise was hidden.

Once I turned the corner, I heard the sound of cars driving by, the sound of honking as people didn’t have the patience to wait for cars that were double parked, the sound of music and bass pulsing through tinted windows. I heard the sound of people laughing from inside a bar, the sound of active dryers from a crowded laundromat, the sound of ice cubes bouncing around inside of plastic cups outside the café. I heard the sound of lighters from a group of smokers outside of a restaurant, the sound of a young couple arguing down the opposite side of the street, and the sound of a rattling as a woman situated her cart of flavored ice on the corner. I heard the sound of the train as it screeched to stop at the Broadway, the sound of shoes running up the stairs to make it before the doors close, the rumbling from the platform above as it pulls away. I heard the sound of south-eastern European accents, then spent the next ten minutes trying to figure out how an accent can be so harsh and yet so inviting at the same time. The occasional siren goes off down Broadway, but three separate times it seems only long enough to get them through the red light.

I realized, as I walked down the street without headphones, that there is such an abundance of sound that they all sort of bounce off each other. I sometimes think that the neighborhood and its distractions are too much for me, but I have to admit, it was nice to tune into them this time.