need the noise.

I passed it quickly, but it remained in my mind as I walked by the public toilets, the café, and the gravel paths along the pavilion we have never been into. The tent.

I had imagined having a cup of coffee and read a bit in the quiet afternoon but the café was crowded with people and I realised that they were all supporters of the local fotball team waiting for the game to start. They were all dressed in pale blue t-shirts and having beer. Usually the customers here are middleaged or older women. Or young couples or mothers with their trolleys, hiding or showing off their bright new offsprings. On Sundays grandparents often take their family for lunch here: a sandwich and a biscuit with the coffee. I guess the café used to be something it no longer is. This evening was different, filled with heat and excitement and occasionally the singing from the fans already at the football stadium reached us. I wondered if anyone else had noticed it. The tent. And I started thinking about that person: who was she? Or he? What is it like to sleep in the park? To fall asleep and to wake up? And what about the in between time?

They renovated the public toilets a year ago or so and now it is all stainless steel and automated flushing. And they are always clean. So I can see why the person in the tent chose this place. But when any of the doors isn’t closed properly, a horrible alarm signal goes off. A sound that cuts through your bones. What does she do then? I always rush inside to finish my rather lousy coffee, but maybe she doesn’t even notice it anymore.

I hardly notice the sounds from the street under my bedroom window. Not that my street is very loud. It is not heavily trafficked, but cars drive by and people pass. Sometimes they stop at my corner to say goodbye, chatting for ages. People from the pub in the building I live in, go outside to make phonecalls, and I can hear every word they say.

I think I told you, but it is always very hard for me to fall asleep in new places because it is often too dark and always too quiet. My father lives in the countryside and when I visit him I always open the bedroom window when I go to bed, to escape the horrifying silence so that I can hear the tree branches moving. I need the noise.

Do you think that she heard me passing? The footsteps? I didn’t hesitate or stop or anything. But I started thinking about her.