Every day is a symphony.

The first movement opens with a shrill beepbeepbeepbeep beepbeepbeepbeep beepbeepbeepbeep, followed by the rustling of sheets, the rustling of clothes, a fountain, a flush, a backpack’s zipper, and the squeak of a door being closed slowly as to not awaken the roommate who woke up with the first beepbeepbeepbeep but is kind enough to pretend that he is still asleep.  Rubber-soled shoes squeak on linoleum and patter on stone.  The pattern of the patter is altered as staircases are descended.  A silent door is opened and for the first time a low murmuring of voices can be heard.

The tenor opens his mouth in a brief solo.

“Good morning.”

A lower voice responds.

“Good morning.”

Silverware jingles and plates clink.  A chair scraping against the floor marks the end of the first movement.  The soloist sits down to breakfast.