I constantly see people walking around the city with their
headphones. Sometimes I think about bringing my white Sony’s that were gifted
to me by a friend, then I sit in the sound of the city and realize that I would
never want to tone all of that out. I love walking down the
street and hearing the soft pad of my work flats on pavement, the honking of
impatient drivers. Few things to me are better than walking down Newbury and
listening to the bands outside of storefronts, playing their music as one band’s
sound bleeds into the others, at first sounding jumbled, then clear, just to
become convoluted again.
Everything about the city is a sensation. Walking by stores where
the A/C pushes out more hot air or stores whose A/C is working over-time to try
and cool the few patio tables, so a person walking by, for a few steps, is in a
cloud of crisp, cool air, before treading back into the sticky heat.
I don’t want to miss the obnoxious catcalls from men who are
probably already scoring their first high or drink of the day at 10 AM. Watch
the groups of seemingly homeless make bets and dares as one walks into traffic,
forcing the delivery truck to slow down.
My music is the sound of breaks squeaking on garbage trucks
and jogging across the street as I Jaywalk to avoid being hit by the UPS van
and sedans barreling down the road. Listening to the college kids talk about
their music theory class or the latest party they went to as they finger their
neon green electric guitar. Angry phone conversations by men wearing full suits
in the humidity while they storm through groups of tourists. The screeching of the Green Line on the rails at Haymarket Station.
I never thought I could love a city as much as I love
Seattle, and maybe I don’t love Boston as much as I love home, but it feels
pretty close.
