You hear voices from the sidewalk, inside the trolley.
Voices outside your apartment window wake you up.
It’s the charm of who’s who in the neighborhood.
Moving to the suburbs only changes the voice, from the actual words that sometimes annoy, to a distant buzz of a freeway that always annoys.
You hear airplanes buzzing overhead because you forgot to check if your new neighborhood lies under a flight path.
A human voice makes a difference.
We hear things as youths that stick a lifetime. That’s what happened to Karl Friedrich.
His mother told about women pilots in WWII. Like a good writer, it stuck with him.
Like a dedicated writer, he did something with it.
Karl Friedrich was the second writer I met while I was downtown for a Willamette Writers meeting; the first didn’t know he was a writer. Read the rest of this entry