Another day, another dollar, or something like that.

Sitting here, coffee in hand, brooding over a blank page, a jackhammer fires up, ripping through the 7:45 am air. The thought of writing about how much I despise jackhammers comes to mind, but I dismiss it, as it would be preaching to the choir.

My office has been located virtually on top of Boston’s Big Dig since I began working there over two years ago, and I’ve had my share of jackhammers, steamrollers, cranes, drills, and other things capable of loud noises and occasional structural vibration. I’ve fantasized many a time about stricter urban noise pollution law, as the differing level of animosity and strain Downtown with and without the chorus of heavy machinery and their Futurist symphonies is very real. But, it seems, few people think about sound like that.

In the end though, this is what happens when people live together. We have to suffer, on some level, the stereos bleeding through the ceiling, the shrill cry of angry children from the playground down the block, couples quarreling as they walk, the blaring of air horns after certain sporting events, the wail of the ambulance siren, and every now and then, a jackhammer.