I hear screaming through the vents. Air-conditioned voices yelling at one another. A woman saying, you don’t love me anymore, a baby cries.

There are voices in the alley mixed with hip-hop bass lines and car motors churning slowly, a chained dog barks.

Trains run through town. Steel wheels turn, and the engine blows out smoke. Vagabonds jump cars heading west. Sitting in black empty spaces. Voices ricochet off walls. Cigarette butts along the tracks. A crossing arm comes down. Bells ring.

Sirens on cop cars, fire trucks, ambulances carrying the wounded. Silence for the dead.

You don’t love me anymore, she tells him. You don’t love me anymore, a door slams. Waiting for morning.