Living in Manhattan has its ups and downs. One characteristic of this city is the ubiquitous air conditioning units retrofitted onto older buildings (such as the one me and Lisa live in) that stick out in mass profusion, lending many the apartment blocks a smallpox-like pustulated effect. Anyway, these AC units basically work by drilling a hole through the wall and setting up a big funnel, within which they put some sort of heat transfer mechanism. But the annoying thing is that the noise insulating effects of the external wall have been compromised. This unfortunate fact was brought home to me most forcefully last night when I awakened in some panic, aware that my body was being suffused with adrenalin and primed for fight or flight. Some huge noise, apparently, and quite nearby. After a second or two it came again, a huge bellowing undercut with disgusting liquid tones: someone was vomiting explosively right beside the AC, which is itself right my pillow. I’ve puked, we’ve all puked, but apart from one astonishingly loud and unprecedented night of sturm und drang of Niall De Barra, I have never heard anything like this. Vomit spews from the stomach – theoretically an almost completely silent process. It takes some special care and effort to engage the larynx and lungs, to bellow at the top of one’s voice while simultaneously expelling great noisy gobbets of spew in a weird vomitous cacophony. But this intrepid night wanderer managed it easily. And not just once, or twice, but six separate episodes, maintaining maximum volume each time with unflagging enthusiasm. It sounded like herd of hippos was noisly splashing and snorting right in my bedroom. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well after that.
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