In Somnia

Brooklyn, NY - kc - Tuesday, October 25th, 2005 : goo

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A minor urban anecdote, albeit one that genuinely contains city noise. This is going to be pure text entry, but it contains a picture I wish I had taken. It's Saturday night. A bit after 11--I haven't been sleeping well lately, to cite one excuse--I was getting ready to turn the light out, noting in my journal that I could hear the now familiar rumble of the refrigerated Fresh Direct truck outside. Shortly afterward, miraculously, I was asleep. Around midnight, I was stirring again. Weirdly, the Fresh Direct sound was still around, only now it seemed louder. That's a long time for a produce delivery. Toss. Turn. Thrash. What the hell is it? I get up, without my glasses, peer outside, and see a boxy blue and white truck parked in front of the fire hydrant across the street. I think: Mr. Softee! It's parked. Aha! Mr. Softee is out dealing drugs, like they say! On the other hand, it's pretty cold for an ice cream truck. Maybe it's Con Ed. It could be Con Ed. Back to bed. A few minutes, then up again, this time for my glasses and binoculars. Ah. There's a light on in the truck. It is Con Ed. Back to bed. Thrash. What on earth is Con Ed doing, anyway? I don't remember a manhole there. Back to the window: now the lights are out in the truck, which is still roaring into the night. There's no sign of any street labor. It's heading toward one a.m. now. Get dressed. Walk across street. Look into the wide front window of the truck: Two guys in their separate seats, each with his head thrown back, mouth wide open. Asleep. Snoring, perhaps. Observe for a moment, then knock on side window. One guy groggily rolls it down as the other awakes with a start. I ask: Are you doing some work? ("We were doing some work.") Is it going to last all night? Do you have to do this work with the truck on? The two men mutter a bit, words I can't quite make out, wave at me as if I should go away, it will be all right. Okay, I say, confused about the outcome. Perhaps they are terrorists. I memorize the license plate as I recross the street and write it down when I get inside. I wish I'd had my camera. And my flash! Remembering the Con Ed motto, I'd have headlined it: "On It? or Out Of It?" I get back into bed. A few minutes later, the truck rolls away. Silence returns, broken only by buses and the late night chatter of people returning home. I lie awake until 6 a.m.

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