Tourist class
Opening my ears and mind to everything, every sound, every word, every bit of audible detritus. At a coffee shop. In principle one should document the sounds, the overlapping conversations and the crazed concepts that combust when the words of a group of students studying math intersect with the words of a woman explaining to a man why she was late for this meeting, this meeting that happens now.
But I can’t do that. Principles intervene. Sitting in a public place and recording the conversation is a poor man’s grasp at capturing reality, capturing the essence of a culture. Dip in, grab what you like, spray it onto paper, sign your name to it. That’s tourism.
