I live near a school. A girl’s school. Being sensitive to high-pitched tones, some of the squealing would make me loathe going in and coming out times. I remembered, though, that it was just the same when I was at school and and that’s just the way it is. I must have dealt with it better then, or perhaps the simple joy of my escape from drab, stinky boxes filled with the threat of exploding zits was such relief that I became immune, temporarily, to the sound, leaving the local hounds to suffer in silence, until the sudden footfall had passed. Continue reading