Sounds like...

A fly buzzes around my ears and overhead I hear the drone of a light aircraft weaving among the wispy clouds.
Inside the steamy cafe, bacon sizzles on the hotplate as a waitress in clacking heels approaches an old man who gulps down the remains of his tea and gives out a belch.
I scratch at a rash on my arm that has itched for the past two days and rustle through the pages of a newspaper, scanning the contents for the juicy bits while waiting for my breakfast.
Then a thought strikes me: Why doesn’t onomatopoeia sound like anything?