Boom-Boom-Boom

Outside my building there's a Godzilla-size jackhammer demolishing one of the entrances to the Copley T station. The city's amenable hum typically is disturbed by drunken youth at this hour of the night . . . wandering the alley below my window, pissing on the trash dumpsters, dropping bottles, proclaiming their alpha-maleness. They and other random noises generated in the melee that's a 21st century urban center can annoy, but nothing akin to what this 20 beats per minute pulverizing has achieved this evening. 

Fortunately there must be a rule requiring the work to knock off at 11 PM. The top of the hour's passed and now I just have the radiator hissing and some voices in the distance to distract me. With some luck, Chloe (the small white ruffian who lives next door) will not decide to fill the void of relative quiet with barking. I've got poems to revise before bed. Now that the metronome beating concrete has subsided, we'll see if I can avoid any other self-imposed distractions.