Whirrrr. Screeeech. Bang bang bang. Whirrrr.
Yes, he’s back. The neighbor on the block returned last week from his summer in the woods of the Great North. And we can tell. It’s been near-constant sounds of the circular saw, hammers banging, wire brushes grinding, and smells of heavy cigar smoke from dawn to dusk. The vrooom-vrooom-vrooom of his motorcycle should be filling the air soon, too.
I sure miss the quiet of summer and hearing the birds singing.
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