On Tuesdays and Thursdays mid-afternoon there is a lot of grunting out there by the road getting louder then quieter then louder again. It is the man with the big red headphones pacing while he waits for his bus. Sometimes he claps his hands and bobs his head.
I want to hear what he hears when he’s listening to what he’s listening to. But I don’t want to listen to what he’s listening to. And I especially don’t want to listen to the grunting. It’s exhausting, but I miss it when it’s gone.