My nocturnal symphony—cricket cellists, owls on bassoons, raccoon’s racket, dogs baying at the moon, creek gurgles, bonfire crackles—vanished, evaporated, or drowned. Instead: heavy footsteps, doors shuttering, engines barking, horns yelling, brakes hissing, sirens whistling, voices dancing, rap music rattling, and the clank-and-crash of trash tossed into the bin. 

The cacophony finally lessens; I nestle in. Until the upstairs neighbors start a rhythmic love-making session above my head. I lie in bed, hugging knees to chest—for the first time, but not the last time—violently alone, missing home.