The joys of a basement apartment
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David sleeps in a basement bedroom in the North End - with windows at street level. This morning, he's oh-so-gently awoken by a snow plow:
... Try and imagine what a snow shovel sounds like at 5:30 in the morning. The dirty, rusty blade scrapes along the cement incessantly - with the edge shiny and sharp from extended use - literally a foot from my unconcious head. I awake with a start and then try to figure out why I'm not actually lying on a beach beside a topless Rachel Weisz ...
Ed. note: Although we sleep on the second floor of a house on a leafy Roslindale street (did I just write "leafy?"), we, too, were awoken early by a snowplow. Apparently, the city ran out of normal snowplows and could only find ones that had been equipped with pile drivers, so we got up to "scrape, scrape, BLAM, scrape, scrape, BLAM BLAM, scrape, BLAM, scrape, BLAM, scrape, BLAM."