August 13, 2012
I was lost inside an aural tunnel of voices vying for attention, each one slurring more loudly than the previous, each one achieving a new level of incoherence. From the distance a rolling metallic howl slowly invaded the auditory space, building to a low roar as the voices faded from prominence. I awoke to the full force of steel on concrete pulsing through the bedroom window. Between slats of the blinds I saw a man headed north, pushing a tireless bicycle strung with plastic bags bulging with rags and recyclables, the bare rims grinding on the sidewalk. Morning in OB.