The music was always there, only that it was lonely when people didn’t hear it.
The synchronous orchestra of a construction site in the vigour of the early morning.
The whooshing crescendo of heavy traffic in the rush hour.
The sad cadences of empty places where loneliness goes to be alone.
A corner turned and a radio plays uses electricity to sing a song sung thousands of miles away.
The bass from banging speakers thumps out into the night.
Doors slam.
The screams of sex echo.
A nocturne duet of dogs howl in an a cappella requiem to the day.
A siren goes off in the distance, a primal call in a city of decadence.
A staccato of gunfire.
An allegro of heavy footsteps.
The maniacal medley of the malevolent masses.
The sonata of society.
The music is always here. We just don’t listen to it.

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