June 13, 2015
SOME of the sounds I hear drifting through my neighborhood have an almost dreamy melody: the lonesome whistle of the train at night, or the vegetable guy’s lilting chant, “I got satsumas! I got okra! I got green onions!” as he rolls down the street. But there is a one sound that sends me into a panic.
I heard it one morning not long ago, and sprinted out, looking for its source. The culprits were right next door: two guys on ladders sanding the front of a house. Plumes of white dust rose from their sanders into the clear blue sky.