Color is my daylong obsession, joy, and torment.
absolutely everywhere i go, there seems to be another person just wanting someone to listen. i have no idea what i am truly supposed to do with all of the very personal thoughts and feelings and stories that come my way out of nowhere, but i sure feel privileged to hear them.
apartments with walls that consistently let some sound through, but are admirably sturdy enough to keep things fairly muffled, present an interesting, long-term test of sound recognition abilities. the most distracting of which, for me, is that of identifying songs and musicians based upon familiar chord progressions and tones, or the peculiar pitch of a vocalist.
there are also, of course, the more mundane sounds of home life to overhear and decipher: kitchen cabinets being perused, or utensils selected and moved from mouth to plate, dresser drawers being slid open and closed, and lights switched from on back to off.
most everything about my many neighbors besides these most audible clues remains a mystery. i am left to imagine the food on the plate or in the cabinets, the color cast by the lights onto the walls, the contents of the dresser drawers, or the dreams and preoccupations of the sort of person who sloshes around in the bathtub to the loud blare of house music at 6am.
well, you never know, the bang could’a messed up the transit, or something (dressed in rough, work-ready layers, out of breath from sprinting to the streetcar and confused by its unexpected arrival time)
i think it was a transformer (also out of breath from the run, but much less befuddled by the scenario)
squirrel probably got in there, messed somethin’ up
welp, squirrel’s dead now. wonder how much was affected (all the while, carefully folding and unfolding a scientology newsletter that was originally on his seat, glancing at its content every so often and not quite sure what to do with it)
and then a shinily dressed, unknowing jogger sat down directly between the two, earphones in and eyes fixed forward. they glanced over him for a brief moment, and then turned their separate ways to ride in silence.
some days, i sort of wish i could just stay on transit forever to watch little moments of the world unfold.
dear hurried drivers of the world,
if a vehicle in front of you is slowing to a stop at a crosswalk, zipping around them to avoid being slowed down yourself is a frustratingly terrible idea. i am tired of watching you do it. and of the dirty looks you sometimes give me when i frantically wave or shake my head as you miss pedestrians by a hair.