March 13, 2007
Sometimes, the old pipes sound like there are voices inside. When the heat comes on in the old industrial building where I live, the pipes clang vigorously, a dissonant urban symphony. Under the clashing, I can hear the hot water coursing through the pipes – a long journey in a maze-like building spanning nearly an entire city block. Besides these familiar sounds, there are some unfamiliar ones, like distant voices, maybe of those who worked here long ago. Are they trying to tell me something? A warning? A reflection on their lives? Or simply, “carpe diem” before it’s too late?