There is a quiet that is different from any other in the world. It is the quiet of Gotham. It is the quiet of Gotham that occurs from around 4 to around 6 in the morning. When, from deep inside my very small apartment, I can still hear the lone car or empty cab coasting down Second Avenue for as far as three blocks in either direction.
When I can hear the random shop owner rolling up the metal gate to his business. When I can hear the "jangling" of a construction worker's tool belt while he starts his shift. When I can hear not just the footsteps but also the breath of the early morning jogger as she passes by right underneath my window.
It is the time when I can hear the birds converse with inflection. When I can actually hear leaves rustle. And when I can eventually hear my neighbor's alarm clock finally going off two flights above me.
In just a few hours, when the city is at its most electric, it will be so loud that one could barely hear anything save the sound of their own elevated voice.
But I enjoy this special time, every day, in my city. For, in many ways, it is only during the quiet of Gotham, that I can truly hear the sound of Gotham.