Times have improved for me, having found a wife and better employment. But I won't forget my 10 years at Brannon and Chippewa.
One main reason is because I have such a rich audio chronicle of those years. Phonography was a good choice at that locale. I was able to compose complete pieces using only lightly processed apartment sounds.
The espresso machine created a textured drone. The sink made a percussive flourish. Rusty nails in a can, ice cubes in a dirty glass-- all were made into instruments.
I discovered, strangely enough, that my old beat-up microwave sounded like a female choir when recorded (truth).
I composed my music for myself, and thousands listened. Between just "Nocturne" and "South City Spring", there were over 17,000 listens. Some perhaps were horrified, some could relate.
I played my music for the mice, who jumped like their feet were on fire when I tried to catch them with a popcorn bag. I played it for my neighbors, whose sounds were captured therein. And, I played it for thousands of others, many of whom I may never know.