I am aware that what I am about to write will result in me being branded a cantankerous misanthrope, and possibly even a bit mad. What the heck.
As I’ve grown older, I’ve noticed myself developing a visceral aversion to noise. Not all noise; just certain noises. Some sudden, intrusive sounds provoke what I can only describe as an involuntary, irrational rage. I swear, for example, that if I had a machine gun, no boy racer would be safe. In my wilder flights of fancy I picture myself lying in wait to ambush them. I would shoot first and worry about the consequences later.
