On the 12th floor, my brother’s speakers pick up stray radio waves. They are the faintest of sounds, like ghostly whispers leaking into the world of the living. It’s strange, as, though I can hear them, I can’t make out the words, and even it it scares me, the constant sound of someone, a person projecting his or her voice into the air in waves that travel at the speed of light, to someone else, to anyone who will hear or who will listen (which I try, but cannot) is comforting.
