Sardina (8 of 99).


I’m at a stoplight, just seconds from my work.

Traffic whizzes around me, steel sardine cans with desperate, recession-tinged fish at the helms. In the distance, an ambulance siren wails. My heart races, wondering from which direction it hails.

I don’t need this much commotion at 8:30 in the morning.

My windows are open, both driver and passenger side. I roll them up with the push of a lever and listen carefully as the traffic, ambulance, and ugly ambient noise of the morning are slowly drowned out by the invisible shields.

For some moments, there is a muffled din of the world around me. I should feel better with the decrease in decibels. The cars still speed down the boulevard, and the people around me still idle in wait for the green. But everyone, and everything, is hushed to nothing more than an urban mutter. Do I feel more relaxed?


Life in this city is too hectic at any volume.

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