I live in silence. My condo has no parties, my neighbors are quiet. Sometimes it is so quiet I play with zippers and call credit card customer service just to hear menus.
People who live out in the country must go slowly insane. I think that's what happened to J.D. Salinger over the years.
Last night I was alone in a coffee shop except for a guy sitting behind me who didn't make a peep. I hardly knew he was there as I wrote in my notebook. Maybe the glare from the top of my skull drove him into a trance.
There was mercifully no piped in music, no scrambling, giggling kids.I closed my eyes and thought about my legacy as a writer. Then I thought about chocolate as I remained in my quiet little bubble.It was so silent I prayed I wouldn't fart and have it heard by the teenage counter girls.
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