Blog 1: What I hear

Symphony of the Streets

There is some rhythm in the streets. You can hear it from the sidewalks. You can feel the pulse from an incoming train. You can see it from the parks. Manhattan is home to its own relentless orchestra.

It is morning. A resident New Yorker will wake to the fleeting sounds of chirping birds. A wake up call less determined than a rooster. The wind brushing against buildings and trees leaving an ominous purr that becomes lodged in everyday formalities.

From where I stay at a dormitory complex in Gramercy, I wake up to the pounding of tennis balls as they hit the court, wavering from morning bird to morning bird as they catch their practice before class. The balls mark the pavement with as constant a beat as the ticking of a clock.

It is lunchtime now in Chinatown. The markets are filled with people. Loud voices argue over prices. Languages conflict. Two men from different foreign countries argue in broken English, their only commonality. Then, the swift brisk movements of cash being exchanged and the swishing of plastic bags holding noontime meals.

It is late afternoon now, happy hour for the pantsuit workers of the financial district. Workers juggle their blackberry phones with shimmering confidence; the clamoring of keys as quick fingers send out emails. Next, the suits hail cabs with outstretched hands bringing in the horns and swerves of eager cars, screeching into the asphalt trying to gain a wealthy man’s tip.

The sun goes down in 42nd Street, and the symphony comes alive: Hordes of people pushing through the crowd, the honking and beeping of cars as they try to manipulate through the busy street, the snap of a tourist taking a picture of the famed city lights and every corner lined with men trying to convince anyone to go to a comedy show, their quick lines an octave above the murmur of the streets.

The street has the beat, a persistent hum of wind gushing against a building. The streets have their rhythm, the pulsating crowd of every single neighborhood at all times of day. The streets have their harmony, the feigned synchronization of rush hour traffic. The streets have their song.