The whistling pipes of ole norther cote

My apartment building has a certain number of quirks, such as, within the walls of the plain, white hallway interiors, certain shower piping with the ability to sing at a whining pitch. With these lilting pipes that so love their karaoke when turned on by naked bodies hopping into the shower, comes a rather unremarkable feeling stemming from what can only be described as a sporadic series of nightly and morning asides. Considering why these hidden whistling tubes are happy enough to burst out in tune every now and again, my mind kept settling on the idea of a stretched budget at the construction company that put mortar to this place. I nearly always tuned out these asides because they didn’t interest me. But then as I began to write this evening’s post, one began to. Why do they all sing the same way? Why don’t some rattle or shake or hum or drum or belch or screech? Instead, they all just whine and whistle in a way that sounds like the melody of a strung-out radio transmission. Must be something in the water.

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