"I heard opera in my head"

I'm working on an essay about, among other things, New York and the experience of moving to New York. This morning, sitting at my desk with the heater on full blast (because there is no low-blast or medium-blast) and the window cracked open, I realized I've never told you about the opera guy.

In my head he's large and black-haired and is, well, Pavarotti. Although, from the few times I've actually heard Pavarotti, Pavarotti's better. But, this guy - if it is, indeed, a guy, and not a recording, and I much prefer to think of him as a guy - lives in one of the apartments across the way. Every day, late in the morning or very early in the afternoon, he sings. He sings in Italian, so I have no idea what he's saying. There's never any accompaniment, or anyone else singing along; just his trembling voice. I turn off iTunes and listen, and write, or read, or edit.

It's a very New York time of day.