Wednesday, November 11, 2015

A Review of Listening to the 134 at 1:50 in the morning

Lying awake in the orange room, with windows west and north, listening to the roll and perpetual cresting of the 134.  Like a plane ever overhead, like the sound of pulling and pushing, inhalation and exhalation at once, the traffic above Eagle Rock cutting east and west through the foothills, resonating in detached sympathy with the patient churn of the heater in the basement.  The muted roar of the traffic filling and emptying the night, washing over the darkened homes below, the noise of sleeplessness, anxious peering past beams in the dark, ceaseless.  The sounds of air and heat and steel and moving away from things. 

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