The salesman's practiced patter
And the din of tires being mounted
Proves too much. I want to leave.
This isn't my crypt-quiet home. It
Isn't as my workplace is: large,
But sparsely populated, calmer than
The chaos here. I guess I don't get
Out that often. Daily life as many live
It, crowded, rushed, above all,
Noisy, agitates and wearies me. I
Hope I won't soon find myself immersed
By it again.