By the time I started this, it was 4:33 AM.
My dad’s snoring. I have to sleep in his room, because my grandparents are staying in my brothers room for the weekend, and my brother- in mine. Oh and this couch- not the best place to sleep on.
I can hear the the cars whizzing by my building. You hear them a lot in Tbilisi. Many youngsters, and not only, like to race around in the almost-empty streets of my city, so I’m pretty used to a tire scratch here and a car horn there, in collaboration with a police siren once in a while.
WOOOW… would you look at that. The neighborhood dog started its shift a bit early tonight. Aaand it stopped. Oh no, there it is again. I’m pretty sure it’s a Caucasian Shepard. I could tell, because we had one when I was a kid.
All these noises, the snoring, the racing, the barking, the occasional sex screams my lesbian neighbors make around this time… all so annoying and yet so harmonized with each other. The unison of these individually disturbing sounds is an inevitable song of the city. It’s as if the conductor first waves his baton (you know the conductor stick) at 2:30 ish AM and just keeps on going, until the very last member of the orchestra doesn’t stop performing his or her part. Oh and the audience? Don’t worry the climate got it all covered. Thanks to the hot nights we’ve been getting lately, we are literally forced to open the windows and listen to these city tunes.
But the great thing is that you involuntarily hear this music, without even realizing the individual existence of each contributor to this melody, and only when you truly try to listen to it do you understand that the chainsaw snoring, the ceaseless tire screeching and all the other sounds actually make up what is known as the most played and the most-listened-to song in modern history.
It’s 5:17 AM. I’ll go on and listen to the rest of the concert.