Day 1. Giant wrecking machine arrives to demolish Tony's garage next door for large scale side street redevelopment. My side street. Right beside me. Tony was never seen again. Probably retired to Costa Rica as a multimillionaire. Sadly, he still owes me for splicing cable into his office for World Cup Soccer in 2002.
Day 2 et al. Wire fences erected all 'round. Machine thumps and crashes all daylight hours.
Day 8. Fellow resident Sheila is seen staring bleakly into rubble. Lots of bricks.
Day 36 et al. Clearing the bricks.
Day 48 et al. Machines come to suck a stray underground creek out of the foundation. Good luck. It's the same stuff that regularly floods our underground garage.
Day 67. Water-sucking equipment takes a break. Where did they put all the water?
Day 88. The hole looks dry-ish. No activity.
Day 92. Trespassing archaeology buff triumphantly waves old spoon at Sheila—treasure in the muck.
Day 121. Pond forms in hole. Lake Ontario is baaaack.
Day 140 et al. Water-sucking resumes. Hoarding replaces wire fence.
Day 141. We outwit them with a view of the mess from our rooftop.
Day 153. Sheila and I discuss architect's vision now available on the internet.
Day 178 et al. Tanker trucks come and go. Busy mysterious noises.
Day 186. They think we don't know they have a water problem.
Day 200. New project! City guys arrive to rip up the sidewalk along the block. Under my windows.
Day 202. Nicely I ask foreman to move the generator a bit so not to asphyxiate from fumes.
Day 207. My city councillor gets the generator moved. Slightly.
Day 217 et al. They really love their cement-cutters and jackhammers.
Day 223. Foreman plants his mobile office under my window.
Day 249. Serious equipment arrives out front. Trees and poles topple.
Day 250 et al. Guys next door resume activity, riveting foundation things.
Day 250 et al. Guys out front take turns with the jackhammers. One works and three watch.
Day 279 et al. Both crews coordinate: stagger their breaks so a sudden quiet won't disarm us.
Day 298. Every resident on the street has gone deaf.
Day 307. Sheila and I discuss hearing aids. Yelling.
Day 311. Gigantic holes instead of sidewalks. To cross the street we must go around the block.
Day 313 et al. Guys next door work on and off at complicated foundation business.
Day 320. City guys fill in holes. Collective sigh of relief along the street.
Day 335. Uh-oh. Gigantic pipes and steel rails unloaded under our windows.
Day 340. City guys come to tear up same holes again. They forgot something?
Day 341 et al. Backhoes, pile drivers, jackhammers, generators.
Day 351. Fed up residents sneak out at night to deface excavation signs.
Day 365. Year One anniversary of next door construction.
Day 366. Sheila has developed a tremor.
Day 380. City guys spend one day untangling—by hand—some wires they buried before.
Day 397 et al. Project next door progresses to ground-level floor.
Day 406. Bus drivers have given up stopping here.
Day 412. Hallelujah, cement trucks lumber in all day to fill in the sidewalk holes.
Day 419. Mobile office leaves.
Day 420. Ugliest ever street patchwork. Old pavement, concrete, asphalt, potholes, still-visible ominous chalk marks, tons of parked pipes and steel girders.
Day 425. Message from city re ugly street: “Restoration pending.”
Day 426. Clarification: they will return about Day 540 to rip up patchwork and make it nice.
Day 430 et al. Next door: drilling, blowtorching, banging, shifting, backup beeping.
Day 434. Next door message: project will be a restaurant with patio.
Day Now: Clarification: canyon effect will amplify music and voices. Sheila looks faint.
Sorry I neglected to think of posting all that to bore the piss out of you.
Have another margarita for me, Tony.