Sounds of my daily commute

Paul usually leaves for the university, or 'Uni' as the peeps refer to it here, 20-30 minutes before i leave for work. I putter around our dime sized apartment, finishing my breakfast, watching the morning news with Paul and Pippa and count out my train fare for my pocket. Then, its out the door to Bear Park, learning center for little ones with small legs and arms and in the process of graduating from nappies to knickers.

The glass door slides shut and a key locks it.
My rubber soled sandals squeak on the slate bridge echoing between the glass sides.
The exit security door beeps its release and i use my entire body weight to push it open.
It slams behind me and re-beeps the lock.
The gravel crunches as i cut across the parking lot.
My soles slap on the stairs as i descend below Britomart and the tunnels and the trains beneath.
The train screeches and clicks on the tracks as it pulls up.
The brakes groan as it stops.
Clinking, moaning, grating of the train as the cars pull and resist one another.
The beep beep beep of the door alarm sounds the ok to open.
The clatter and squeak of the temporary footpath scaffolding as all the pieces groan under the weight of the busy crowd heading off in a myriad of directions.

The espresso machine whirs and steams and i listen for the clink of the ceramic on the wooden table surface as i pass Organic Nutmeg.
The rev of the car engines accelerate up the hill.

The crosswalk chimes the go ahead to go.

The woman with the hula skirt purse and bubblegum pink lipstick's high heels rhythmically click clack on the cement we pass each other.
The miniature button springs squeeze as i push the code to get into the school.
Door hinges noisily protest on rusty hinges.
As i enter, a wave of cries, playful screams, talking, laughing and quietly in the distance, Jack Johnson sings from the cd player in the far corner of the toddler classroom.

My day has begun.

Yeah, that's right, these little kiwis listen to surfer music...