The ocean and the highway and the fans at Dodgers Stadium have a similar sound; listening to one, you can imagine the other. It’s weird. It’s the sound of coming and going. All I can say really is that it’s a nice sound to hear when you’re lying in your room in the dark. It’s a nice sound to keep coming back to when your mind starts chattering like an agitated monkey in the jungle. One of my favorite sounds comes early in the morning from the guy delivering papers: slow rolling wheels, plop, slow rolling wheels, plop. He always comes at the exact same time, I assume it’s a he, and he is the best distraction of all. Not only is the sound kind of funny, it’s a direct link from the inside of your head to another place on the other side of the world: there’s you in your bed under the covers, to the guy in the car, to the voice on the radio station in his car, to the man who is reading that news, to the subject of that news, who is a soldier in Afghanistan, who is walking down a hot street with his gear and his helmet wishing he was back in his home in his own bed under the covers. And then the birds start singing.