Sometimes, when I’m up high in one of the old industrial work buildings on my campus, the distant whine of a lone saxophone will drift its way in through one of the large open windows. It’s simultaneously the most comforting and most mournful sound.
What I like about cities, about Brooklyn, is that it’s hard to feel truly alone. This is a blessing and a curse — though I like to think of it as a blessing. No matter where you are it’s expected that the noise of another human being will manage to find you.
Sometimes it will be the pneumatic explosion of a jackhammer against pavement early in the morning. Sometimes, the giggling of toddlers on a nearby playground or the loud conversation of high school kids on their way home. Maybe happy exclamations from a pair of old friends meeting up at the end of the block.
Living in close proximity to so many other people means bearing witness to these small moments, which often serve to make us all feel a bit more connected.
