Montrose Avenue is a bitch of a street. It's relatively nondescript for most of it. A cemetery spans the periphery of the south side of the street, and west of Clark there's a handful of restaurants for a bit, then nothing but homes, highway and more homes. I live East of Clark, known for gang violence and harboring the Wilson redline stop.
But something's taken over this what I'd assumed was a road less traveled. Signs. Orange postings with cruel words taking away my right to parking close to my door. No, sir-ee-bob, you may not park here. Not for 2 months between the hours of 6AM and 2:30PM. If that's not bullshit I don't know what is. A city worker working at 6AM? Please.
Then the unlikely happened. Like unwanted church bells clanging on Sunday morning, ringing in the ears of an unsuspecting homeless man taking up residence between the front doors, today, a Monday, the gongs and clangs of a jackhammer and a monster machine began to peel off the skin of street once resting safely outside my window. 6AM. This is happening.
I slammed the window shut. My bedroom swiftly turned into an incubator as my fan had to be turned off too. It makes a wallowing bird-type noise that I hate. Usually the wind noise overrides it, so I keep it on, but with the glass down, no can do.
The worst part about the whole thing? The way my body will vibrate as I attempt to ride my road bike down this dismantled road for the next two months. Or how I'll never be able to find a good parking spot. Or the simple act of opening my window on a warm summers day will illicit the violent wail of a woman in childbirth. How I hate the sound of construction.
No comments:
Post a Comment