THREE SQUARE METRES OF LONDON

“Deep clicks of motorcycles roll by, loudening as they accelerate. The constant hum of motors, competing to be heard. A car by the sidewalk revs its engine in a cry, desperate for repair, a low murmur of discontentment. The occasional scooter breaks the hum of traffic with its steady high-pitched buzz. A woman’s jewelry flutters as she walks by. Men conversing as they pass. The speculations of why the car by the sidewalk isn’t working are being exchanged. A bus charges by in a loud constant hum. Air being pushed back and forth, sucked under vehicles, caught in wheels, and spat out against brick and concrete. The ground murmurs below like a hungry belly. The street, a vein of whispering blood cells. A girl in sandals drags her feet as she walks. Two women in heels cross each other diagonally and then fade. The light clicks of a bicycle smoothly pass. Another person drags their feet like sandpaper swish swoosh swish swoosh. A stereo briefly plays a light beat in the background. A truck exhales vooooooosh, as if catching its breath. A faint ringing can be heard in the background, but soon reveals itself to be the hum of a plane overhead. Constant passing of cars, some light and other chugging along, tired and disgruntled. The thin squeak of brakes. A drunk extends his hand and slurs “Would you like a drink?”. He shuffles on behind me when the own sound of my voice startles me with its familiarity. “No thank you.”