The city was filled with bright noise, the sounds of the neverending evening din and the buzzing electricity, the foghorn screaming and the woman bellowing and the neverending neverending neverend of it all. The litup alleys the passerby passed hurrying to the next entrée, the end of the menu was near, somewhere there in the very last of the last pages in the section for desserts the oldold men slowly staggered across the litup pavement and looked at the noise and they saw it and felt it and heard it and condemned it and grumped about the olddays and the oldtimes and nobody cared because they had their own lists to cross off and their own noise to listen to and make and see. The city was filled with bright noise and the cars whizzing past left scars on the streets, bleeding from within, crying at the grumpy old ones because noone was crying for them or telling them that they remembered the olddays and the pavement cried and cracked and the repairmen came to fix it but still, the green grass came through the tinycracks and forced its way through the dirtydirt and there it was. And I thought about the quiet noise that the cracks made, the noise of the trees in the park growing and the shivering grass in the nightfrost and the first budsofspring quietly opening up, down, left and right, and I thought about the cars and the people in the alleys and the oldold men staggering slowly and the pavement screeching because it was hurt by what it felt all the time. I thought about the way that the bridges spoke to each other and each one told a new story on each new day and about the Victorian lamps in the park and the way they buzzed slightly and when you came up to the bottom of one there was a magicnumber on the post so I knew which one it was and I thought about the benches and the weight and the pain they must feel, and the gossip and stories that they overheard and the lies and the revelations and the loves that happened on them and about the telephone wires always working, carrying something they will never, can never understand, and I thought about the way that the windows spoke to each other not with words but with reflections.
The city was filled with bright noise and I was part of it.
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