As I was walking down Lyndale Avenue tonight after browsing around Treehouse Records for a while (no dice! I did find a beautiful Acid Mothers Temple record that cost too much), I noticed something interesting. With the road packed with cars bumper to bumper, the stop-and-go dynamics of of the congestion combined with the varying squeaky tonalities of three cars' brakes in varying states of disrepair created a simple melody, F#-A-G, in high-pitched harmonic overtones, like three musical saws. As I continued walking I noticed a sound of whirring crickets intensifying. The sound died in a mechanical wheeze, and the sound became in retrospect a rusty motor. I continued walking, and the real hum of crickets began.