I’ve seen that in a film the way a honking car or a distant siren can feel like a heartbeat, pulling the audience into a moment. In my own work I listen for those sounds because they’re the raw, unfiltered emotions of a place, not just background noise. I take that chaos and I frame it, sometimes I let it linger, sometimes I cut it, but I always try to weave it into the rhythm of the story so that the noise becomes a voice that speaks louder than words. It's a strange kind of translation, but when it lands, it feels like the world is talking directly to the character.

Yeah, it’s that quiet line between a streetlamp flicker and a memory, and I just try to listen for it before the scene even starts. If I catch it, I can make the characters hear it too. It keeps the dialogue from being the only thing that matters.

Thanks, I'll keep chasing that hiss, though sometimes I half‑expect the city to laugh back at me.