Faintly, through the wall, I hear next door's dogs howling, a perfect glissando: up.... and back down again... pause... up... and back down again....
Two doors down, the wind chimes tinkle vaguely, irritating as I try to identify a tune.
A distant bus wheezes, whines and sighs, not quite powerful enough to do its job.
Someone somewhere is building something with a buzz-saw: it snarls and grinds.
Cars whoosh quietly down the street and snatches of women's voices float through the window, their disconnected practical poetry a lyric of passing nonsense.
Planes groan through the air, distant... overhead...distant; two of them, going in different directions, everyone aboard looking for paradise.
'Youuu stuuupid bugger, youuu stuuupid bugger', says a lone pigeon.