as heard out my window. Softly, the birds twittering in the trees, then the bark of the dog, tied by his leash to the french around the tree at the curb. Later in the morning, the wail of the ambulance forcing a path through the traffic. As the day wears on, the drone of the cars, taxis and light weight trucks on the pavement; the incessant honking of a horn. The squeal of the air brakes of the bus as it stops, and the buzz hum of the diesel engine in acceleration pulling away. The laughter of patrons sitting, eating and drinking at the tables on the sidewalk. Late at night, the lone siren of the police cruiser racing up the street; the insistent inane pattern of a car alarm. At 2 am the clinking of the glass bottles in sacks, as the busboys drop them at the curb for 6 am pickup. 6 am pick up combines the noise of the clanking bottles, the back-up beep of the truck, the whirr of the compacting unit in the rear of the truck and the ocasional shout out from the worker at the rear to the driver in front . A calm. And then the soft tweeting of the birds in the trees once again.