I live 5 floors above an intersection, where, frequently, drivers who don't want to let other drivers merge or drivers who want to merge but aren't allowed to express their displeasure by pressing their hands against their horns for 1,2,3, 4, 5, 10 or 20 seconds.
The neighborhood is also heavily populated with clever funsters who play the music of their homeland at full volume as they drive at all hours of the day and night.
The wife likes the window open at night, so the full brunt jiggles the photo of my Aunt Sadie from Pasadena on the mantle.
But a few minutes ago, a car went by blasting music. I caught three seconds of it, and it shocked me to my core.
Do be do, bop bop a doo-woah
That's right---Robert Plant's end ad-libs to "What is and what should never be".
How strange that I should feel pleased and comforted by one of the loudest, heaviest, screechiest bands of all time when a snippet of their song zips by the window, like a robin's sweet serenade.
It was like hearing music from my home country, though it may be but 40 miles away.
Another planet, where boys drive Camaros, girls wear jean jackets, and Zep is the soundtrack to every gathering at the Croton Dam, the K-Mart parking lot, the back of the school.
Monster Attack: Small Kingdom
2 years ago