There is a man, homeless I think, that walks through the Marquette campus nearly every day. I don't know anything about him; I wouldn't even know him if he walked right up to me. But he has a very identifying quality -- he whistles. It's never a recognizable song, just tuneless intervals. Now, many people whistle, but Mr. Whistle (as we call him) is different. He whistles loudly. Think you know what I mean? Try this: I live on the fourteenth floor of my building. When I am in my apartment, with all the windows closed, A/C or heater running, listening to the news on the radio, I can hear him. From three blocks down the street. That is some loud whistling.
Rock on with your bad self, Mr. Whistle.
But, the real question is....can you hear my kids screaming when they are mad at me from halfway across the state?
Did you hear Girly throwing a fit last week? Our neighbours down the road did.
She also screams as loud and as piercingly as she can in random outdoor places for fun. Bet she could scarify Mr. Whistler.
Whoa! That's unbelievable--but I believe you,it's also too weird to just randomly make up. I've been in her apartment folks, pretty sound-proof! That's an amazing whistle!!!!!
I rather like hazy autumn gray skies. It's a time to chill and reflect. Then again, I've begun to think that I'm best suited for the Pacific Northwest climate--not that I'd want to move there. At least not now.
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