A few days ago, the BBC published a report on the worrying consequences that urban noise can have on health, and Barcelona was a central theme. It must be said: the concept of "noise pollution" is too convoluted or sophisticated to colloquially refer to or denounce noise, the high-voltage clamor, the acoustic madness that emanates from the streets, public places, houses facing public roads, the crunch of popcorn at the most sublime moment of a movie, from many balconies where people are talking loudly on their cell phones until the early hours of the morning. These unnecessary public disturbances also occur on public transportation: buses, subways, and commuter trains. I could extend the list of these noises ad infinitum in Barcelona (I should also include the thunderous noises of airplanes flying over the towns near El Prat Airport). While I'm at it, lately it's very difficult to find a public place where noisy noise isn't the norm. And what is accepted, almost welcomed, judging by the ecstatic faces of the occasional listeners of the latest reggaeton trend, served for a few willing cents at full speed on the subway or in public. In restaurants, the murmur has given way to noise, also to the unbearable noise that the waiters allow to set up the tables and chairs they move from one place to another; to the shrieks of children whose parents do nothing to make them speak quietly, as often happens in any restaurant in France, where parents, with envious persuasive skill, convey to their offspring the obligation to never exceed the barrier of ideal sound (because such a sound exists). We are also beginning to see on the streets of Barcelona people, most of them food delivery drivers, with tiny stereos with piercing speakers attached to their bicycles.