The Things You Hear In New York When Your iPod Gets Stolen

Without an iPod to insulate me from the worst of New York's aural assault, there were some surprising discoveries today.

/8.30am/

At the Greenpoint stop of the G train, an alarming electronic thing screamed when a train arrived at the platform. This morning I thought it was some kind of emergency evacuation alarm and started for the stairs, until I looked around and saw other passengers - the near total of whom were wearing iPods - unmoved.

/9.00am/

On the L train, two gay guys in tight Ts were talking about their weekend.

Gay Guy 1 - "He was there on Saturday night, too, at Splash you know".
Gay Guy 2 - "God he's always there. Did you see him?"
GG1 - "Yeah he said he was working so I didn't get to see him that much".
GG2 - "When I went out with him it was the same old story".
GG1 - "You think it's not cool to go back this weekend to see him?"
GG2 - "You're always there so what difference does it make?"

A fat woman in sunglasses was humming loudly to her cassette walkman. An ex-Marine, entered the carriage and began, loudly, "Excuse me ladies and gentlemen of New York City, apologies to disrupt you this morning. I served America, this country proudly, in Desert Storm. Now I have been reduced to homelessness and hunger. They give us nothing these days, nothing any more. I ask you today, ladies and gentlemen of New York City, to give kindly whatever you have to an American Patriot and a man in need".

Since most were listening to iPods, he wandered the carriage, hand out, receiving nothing. I gave him two quarters, and heard his humph and sigh as he passed.

"This is 14th Street Union Square. Transfers available..." I heard the carriage come to a halt like an army of drunk tin-whistlers.

/10.00am/

My exposure to New York's unheard aural world continued. The wombat whir of my computer in the otherworldly silence of the library. The vibration of my phone. The shuffling of books. The sibilant sip of a plastic-covered coffee cup. The distant, repetitive dull bong of the lift bells on all floors of the library. The intricate scurrying of dozens of keyboard. The breath of pages turning. The surprisingly vegetable sound of student's back cracking, arched in a yawn.

/12.30pm/

- Weed, sir, weed...?

The place. Washington Sqaure Park. iPod-less, I hear the park's under-economy of drug dealing as I pass half a dozen people in the south-west corner. A street performer in a cape with a poorly fashioned wooden sword, woefully unsuccessful in drawing the lunchtime crowd of students and tourists, turns nasty.

- America, you've turned you back on me! America, what have I done but entertain you, give you my life, my talents, my fears and my hunger? America, you've nothing left for me, have you? America...

He continues to shout to the park from a corner near the fountain, and proceeds with his unusual declarative monologue about some Greek god. It's hard to concentrate on reading with this desperate din. A crazy man zooms past on a bike, his legs out like a circus performer, yelling "fuck you alllll!" at the top of his lungs.

The puppies in the dog run can be heard snuffling and barking and running, their owners with the bigger barks commanding them to sit, stand, run, roll. A guitarist is singing "Summer Breeze".

Then a man approaches. "Excuse me sir, I'm sorry to startle you. I'm hoping for a favour today. I was in the US army in the first Iraq War and they don't give us much these days, I'm after a feed, I'm in need of a home... can you spare some change..." I look around, and there are two others with their army or navy hats on working the fountain for loose coins.

/4.00pm/

My ears start hurting and I'm beginning to crave the shelter provided by my white headphone cords, and the quiet space of nothingness that I can enjoy without the clamour of the city setting in around me. Another Marine enters the carriage on my way home. "... I served in the Iraq War..." Most stare straight ahead, tuned into whatever they are tuned into. They offer nothing as the ex-US-army beggar, the third today, holds out his hat for change. Thanks to the thieves of the city, at least someone one is listening.