Bare, rumble, watch 3WW on Wednesday–not fiction

Relax. I’m going to do a fiction post using these words. Then I won’t be posting for awhile, she says….and really really wants to believe that’s true…
I couldn’t get the 3WW button in correctly. Bone has the rules. I did each word twice, in bold

For almost three years she had watched and heard them construct that damn penthouse. They would work on weekends, holidays, at night, but most of all it was frigging noisy.

She worked at home. She was a reporter for a large alt paper. It was a new job, a new career really, and she needed to focus.

In Manhattan, buildings have too much heat in winter. She had to keep her windows open. She didn’t like using AC except in real summer, but she had much new or newly reupholstered furniture. How was she to know they would spend all that time constructing a damn penthouse?

She bought a laptop so that she could work in America’s office, Starbuck’s. But still she would have to come home and open the windows, and the dust would come flying in

Her mother had recently died. 9/11 was but a year old when they began the construction. There were times she wanted to take her bare hands and break her windows so that it landed on the owners who would come to yell at the workers in a language she couldn’t understand. She was pretty sure the Hispanic and Sikh workers couldn’t understand it either.

Oh how she would have loved to start a rumble. They worked every holiday except for Christmas. They did work one Saturday that happened to coincide with the holiest day on the Jewish calender, besides every Saturday. While she wasn’t religious she thought that very rude.

Her apartment was the one most affected. The people who live downstairs have a much larger apartment than her cut up one. Her entire apartment could fit into their dining room, maid’s room and part of the kitchen. The man upstairs has her basic apartment configured differently was always passed out when home. Passed out, or falling loudly, or vomiting as loudly.

There was construction going on in her building. She felt bombarded. At Starbuck’s there’s just the noise of people. She was used to working in large offices. People noises never bothered her, except the vomiting. He made animal sounds, usually dog noises, sometimes other kinds.

The construction in her building ended. Oh, there was more but she couldn’t hear it. She did get the dust.

She couldn’t help but watch the construction of the penthouse. When it seemed to end, the owner’s mother, a stooped over old lady always dressed in mourner’s black would come and scream at the workers. They would take down a wall that looked perfect to her. Her friends who worked in design would have her look at paintings and other things. All sense of spatial relations eluded her except the sense that could tell if something was off by an eighth of an inch.

So she was pretty damn sure they didn’t have to redo the walls five times each panel. It finally ended.

Now they have begun construction anew. She will watch with her camera and document everything. If not she won’t be nice. Today she felt as if she were in an old fashioned dentist drill. The rumble remained in her head, and worked its way through every nerve in her body.

She will document the new construction. Maybe even video it. When the penthouse was first being built she didn’t have a digital camera. Now she has a hybrid point & click.

She has an even more potent weapon. A blog she uses to bare all.

OK. It’s not fiction. But I was so angry, and the words fit…It could be fiction, but pictures don’t lie. As WP has such a bad image uploader, I will put the pictures and more in my photoblog