Sweeping shots of the overgrown city; bright lights flicker across a palette of manicured skyscrapers and side streets. A gentle downpour, enough for an umbrella but tolerable for those in need of a cooling shower in the midst of a muggy summer evening. With this rain, the sky is clearing. The warmth of the pavement yielding to no sun and flowing waters. It’s quiet, strange for a Friday night. The hooligans are in bed, the kids are in clubs, the adults at boring cocktail parties speaking of dividends and vacation destinations. Here I sit, huddled betwixt a solitary window and the dull shine of a dim bulb. I could read a book. Watch a movie. Play a video game. Crawl into bed. But none of it seems possible with this effervescent soundtrack capturing the stillness of constant movement. It is the wings of a hummingbird and I am the slow motion stills to prove the erratic flapping. This is the sound, I am the action. This is happening, I am frozen.
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