Shuffling sounds in the apartment above, like a ghost sifting through piles of old memories.
Someone outside (or maybe in the apartment building next door, shoved up against our building) is singing an old Radiohead song from 24 years ago. His voice is passable, and he gets most of the long, lonesome high notes on the chorus, but he can’t quite nail the tricky melody changes in the verse.
Somebody drags a shopping cart without wheels down the entire length of the sidewalk in front of our building, creating the scraping equivalent of a drone, counterpointed by the rhythmic beeping of a truck backing up.
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