Welcome to the City

The song of the city. In my previous apartment, I was more at the rear end of the audience crowd, and the wind blew just be the sounds of Geräuschgewühls went to my window. Now, with the move, I am in the middle of the convoy in front of the stage jumped to live with the ear to the speakers. Still, I dare not, with open windows to sleep. Because even at the busy intersection, in which I live, and resent the Aron Sattenschlepper roar like a lion Horde, scooters through my crow Bude, notbremsende tires squeak me from sleep. Horns complaining loudly. I chopped up the sub oriental slaughters pigs halves, I tried about a punk rocker on his Stratocaster clone new riffs to write. Martin's horns in four-four time yowl in Mark and leg. Pneumatic drill clatter, wuppern, leave the concrete pavement fragmenting. Clatters hundred meters with a freight train hard, beating speech on the steel bridge that speeds up quite excited about continuing, in the person of all.

Nightlife is the überschleudert their tormentors with a wild Wust bitter angry. Perhaps I am only now arrived in the city. The flashing lights, in liquid, geliergezuckertem traffic, the tough roads through the swells and roars. But here pulses life, here vibrates the city. Only a few meters I jump farther, and I am already in the missile cafe, with like-minded people in nostalgic charm krudem crime scene to watch, a few meters before the Bar-writer ', hip cocktail lounge. Also on Kreativkai with its rusty cranes and nouveau designers to spit shed is now a breeze. Welcome to the urban life, I say to myself, open the window, peer into the bronze autumn morning light, the sky mild durchschwirrt, close the window again and put me a lap to sleep.