birds scream, squeak, jostle overhead to out of sight. drilling from a corner house, the smell of sawdust. man shuts front door behind him with a click, yelp of electronic car keys, loud hacking cough. distant enclosed music thumping, then tinny. turbo engine kicking in as a train heats up and creates a tubular whining knife-sharpening behind the backs. more thumping, woman adjusts wing mirror in stationary fiesta. rainham road. synchronised roar of cars, the baritone of a white van creeping in. harrow road and the nasal roar of a motorcycle coming up on the inside. sweeping waves of car, a lost part of the city, petering out to scrubland and nothing. man in a suit rounds the corner, young, blond, clicks fingers and sings under breath. clop, mounts pavement in shiny business-shoes. cars slide chugging past to stop at the t-junction. the 18 to euston hisses by. flampflamp flampflamp (temporary yellow plastic ramp on the busy bridge). mother calls to child 100 yards behind in a guttural new language. black van. we. buy. land. now the 18 to sudbury, the tick of a pushbike, the angry whoosh of a turbo charged beamer. skeletal oil tower across the tracks. i want it to speak to me. what is your noise? what have you heard? the marshmallow sky would be undulating, sinking lower in tone with the sun. what would it be to run fingers or sticks along the widely corrugated opaque metal wall opposite? (barring me from that tower, the sunset, the weald) ting or clang? dents where one has tried with harder stuff. low voices carried only half on the wind, half lost to the glowing ether. rattle and busy thump of broken suitcase on broken slabs. patent rustle of tutting leaves underfoot, richer in sound than in colour. slugging motorbikes pass, boredly trapped behind the dull homely humming of people carriers. listen for the buildup of train behind the evening noise like the threat or climax of a thriller. but it dies again, transposed back into real life, biding its time. pictures not necessary, are they not? or are they? waiting at berens road. shoes against pavement mixed with leaves, sounds the consistency of fudge.