As I sit and listen to the city by Chadd Guimond Hippensteel
I hear the:
starting of engines, light conversations and construction sounds.
Mopeds, like boats, have an unsurpassed exhaust, making a loud tin-can fart.
4-cylinder cars whine like an electric motor.
Turbo diesels never sound like they’ve had enough sleep, which I’ve had plenty of this morning.
Friends murmur in love. Behind the Bang bang, metal on metal.
Like the stacking of chairs in an empty auditorium after a long speech made by the governor, the clacks ring out.
Go go motorcycle. Quiet footsteps, alerted only by the sand between the pavement and the sole of their shoes gives them away.
Doors latch and close, but I’m reminded I have to go sit with my classmates and wait for the moment my professor decides we must leave. He pays for my bus and metro tickets, he teaches the course, and this is his and my trip. My classmates send the address to the bus station. I think this means they have walked away from the hostel, but I will not no until I go look, or reply. But looking is more fun
Chadd G Hippensteel 