Blog #2

On the street corner, a man is shouting some Biblical verses at top volume. When I pass by him I can actually feel the faint reverberations in my chest. He’s so loud that he almost drowns out the rattle of the cyclist scudding past in the street lane. There aren’t many cars on this block at this hour, but there are a lot of cyclists, most of them running food deliveries. The soft whir of their wheels forms a pleasant ambient backdrop to the more specific details of the evening soundscape (chatter at outdoor restaurants, snatches of conversation caught from pedestrians, the tap of my own shoes on the sidewalk). Much fainter, further away, sirens and car honks muddled by distance; or more immediately, the occasional sudden rumble of a subway from beneath the metal grates, accompanied by a hissing woosh of hot air. With the exception of the corner preacher, these are all more or less familiar noises to me. Less expected is the woman who runs out of the front doors of my dorm, clasping her loudly sobbing son by the wrist. His squealing, and her terse admonitions, quickly fade into the blurry chatter of the restaurant-goers across the street. I buzz in with my ID card, eliciting a sharp, stinging sound from the keypad. As the doors clack open I hear the mumbly voices of the security guards pass filter through the vent; they shut emphatically behind me and all falls quiet. So ends the soundwalk.