a quiet zone. the typing of computers, the socialization of neighborhood teens, the coughs and grunts. the beeps of cell phones, the scooting of chairs, all make up a deafening hum. the hum grows loud, grows soft, in and out, in and out. the air has a mixture of different smells, as drifts of perfume and body odor float past your face. the neighbor to your left surfs on his laptop, eyes scanning the screen, body swarmed with boredom. stretches are seen throughout the quiet zone. minds wander, some on task, some in a far away land. the work is done, and is never done. family’s carry their kids on their backs, as they approach the quiet zone, the back frees the child as they laugh, run, scream, skip, roll, dance through the quiet zone. the hum grows loud, and soft, loud and soft. a perpetual process. this is no quiet zone. more so a war zone. the firing of guns grow profound, the hesitance, the trepidation in pauses, even louder as many of us hush the noise. this goes on for quite some time. then everything closes. purses are picked up, kids collected, goodbyes spoken, computers shut down, trudges out the door. the quiet zone can be loved by some, and hated by many. but it is never gone.