What I Hear

New York City has energy. It has an energy that pulsates through all matters of life. You walk through the bustling streets and you can feel that energy- those vibrations- those noises- absorb into your skin. You’re surrounded by sounds that spill into your ears and submerge themselves into your entire being. From chatter, to footsteps, to the wind or the rain, to cars and trunks honking, a ceaseless orchestra of noises pulsates through the air. Someone screaming about God in the distances, someone whispering about their lover next to you as you wait to cross the street. Layers of noise, one of top of the other, responding to each other, and you responding to them. They tell you where to move, to avoid the oncoming ambulance, to step to the side when someone asks, “excuse me” as the try to get off the subway. The clocks tolls two and you know it’s time to go back to work, the man in the distance yelling about fruit remind you that you need to go to the grocery store before you go home, the band playing a cover of “Wonderwall” on the street makes you think of an old friend. And it never ends. In a City like this, silence is an abstraction. There is no such thing as silence here. The energy we’ve created always hums, like a heavy, drawn out sigh, even in the quietest of hours.