It's quiet on the second floor where I work. Whatever sounds we have are quiet sounds. It might be that the fluorescent lights hum in the hallway, or the humid air makes the windows creak around the air conditioner unit. Sometimes I hear footfalls on the stairwell; from 11:30 to 1:00 there are children in the school yard next door, if it's sunny. If it's warm, then the soft serve ice cream truck plays its tinny melody from 3:00 to 3:30. When someone comes to see me, I know who it is by the particular creak in the floorboards - short, quick, pats or one long, drawn out shuffle. When I send something to the printer out in the hallway, I hear the drum turning and the printer heads pushing across the paper from my seat in my office; if not, I hear the hard, fast, sharp bleat of an error message instead. From the hallway, where I retrieve the warm streaked paper, I hear the lower swells of my radio, reverberating and filling the otherwise empty second floor.
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