H is for home

Is there something about a hangover that sharpens your ears?
When I left the house this afternoon, I opted to leave the ipod behind and let the sweet strains of Ringsend and Landsdowne be my soundtrack.
It was beautiful.
The singularly rotten sound of squelching as my Conversed foot plunged into a large mound of canine excrement. The young whippersnappers kicking their football off a discarded trolley, a trolley that once may have held groceries for a loving family or maybe for an old couple who still hold hands when they stroll.
The aural wonder of cars sounding their horns at each other because 'the fucking lights are greeeeeen, ya fuckin' cuntcha'. The crackling sound of sausages deep-frying, seagulls screeching and dogs barking at their own tails.
Where's my ipod?