The garbage truck makes so much noise it crushes the early morning air and wakes me from a deep sleep. My psychopathic neighbor stirs her dog to a round of barking. Someone yells at her and she is satisfied. My friend Scarlatti, when he was alive, would complain often of the noise. Now Oscar Levant, he was something else again. He would perform the Gershwin Piano concerto in Lewissohn Stadium every summer while endless planes flew overhead. But he never complained. Metropolous on the other hand, would curse them every time they flew over. My friend Paul who was a professional oboe player liked street noise. He said that it kept him from committing suicide. But one quiet afternoon in the country he did it anyway.