Chronicles Continued

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.

Perhaps it was the full moon. It was an evening and night marked by strange behaviour I saw a young man get hit off his bicycle and smacked to the ground by a car, in the middle of a major intersection. While he lay there unmoving, with a policeman at his head, the buses, cars and trucks drove uncomfortably close around his inert body. In the late evening on the subway, a wily young woman, pops unexpectedly through the closed door at the end of the car. Not only is it illegal to pass between cars while the train is in motion, it is highly dangerous. To my astonishment there was a small girl behind her, whom she was berating for not being brave enough. As she proceeded through the car, followed by the wide-eyed looks of the few other passengers, she continued her diatribe at the girl. They were now in the last car as were we all and when the train came to a stop, they got off and exited through the turnstile. All occupants watched them except for the two silently drunk early 40’s men across from me. One sat there blurry eyed. The other, and you ought to try this: while sitting squarely on his buttocks, slowly, but surely tipped/toppled over until the top of his head was touching the seat next to him. I was fascinated that his body would bend like that. His buddy just looked at him now and then through blood-shot eyes. I exited before they did, so I don’t know where they ended up.  Later, deep in the night, or what was early morning, below my window on the sidewalk, just outside the front door, four men held a loud, long incoherent discussion for 45 minutes. I wanted to raise the window and ask them to st-u, but decided against it for a whole host of reasons. Oh what a night!

Sometimes just the architecture of the City itself is a sight to behold.

When the subway service is going to be altered for the trains that run to Chinatown, the notices are in Chinese.