Lullabies

My next door neighbours seem to be having a little get-together - just a few blokes. With guitars and singing. And beers, judging by the occasional splutters of laughter.

The low rumbles of traffic passing by. The quiet of the evening. Something on the edge of hearing that might be crickets or an electric buzz. Soulful, out-of-tune voices. Mournful love songs I understand even though the words wash over me.

I don't mind my neighbours being noisy, not one bit.