"in between the
punctuating
agonies
life is such a
gentle habit"

the stereo is from the middle of the last century, which as a named thing is an effing terrible thing, and the stereo is disguised as a cabinet, with a hand-painted Chinese motif. It picks up all the doom trumpets in the air, and exudes them in its muffled tin voice.
A little while ago it got to fever pitch, and has stayed there though it seems like they can't keep it up forever, the trumpets. To look outside you would never know it was ending. It's sunny, the trucks rumble and squeak by, startling the cat. The workers get off work and shout across the street to one another as they get in their cars. Laden shopping carts rattle past on their way to the recycling plant, pushed by sad stories. The light fades. At night, souped up Acuras, Toyotas and Hondas peel and scream around the turn, and the house defies the carbonated wind.