Pile driver

First, there was the low rumble, early this morning, a sound akin to a small earthquake. However, the earth did not move. It was a load of pilings spilling from a flatbed.

Now? The earth is indeed shaking.

Boom.

Tremor.

Boom.

Tremor.

Boom.

Tremor.

The sound and fury cometh from a pile driver not twenty yards from where I sit.

Boom.

Tremor.

Makes little sense of course. You see, when you drive pilings in New Orleans, 90% of the time it's to support a slab structure on top. I have occasionally seen pilings drive to support chainwalls, but it's quite rare and normally reserved for very large houses.

Boom.

Tremor.

There used to be a house on this site. In fact, it was the house I witnessed the destruction of last spring, where a family of raccoons was living, the head of which was a particularly angry, and fucking HUGE, mama raccoon who went on a rampage towards the end of demolition. Said house was a ranch-style slab.

Boom.

Tremor.

So, as best I can figure, the jackass who owns the property, the same jerkoff who let his house sit un-gutted for 18 months, including the fridge, is building a new house. A two-story from what I hear, completing the wall of two-story abominations on the small, narrow street behind my home.

Boom.

Tremor.

Since he's driving pilings, I can only come to the conclusion that this asshat is building another slab house. In a neighborhood that took four and a half feet of water. Likely with Road Home money.

Boom.

Tremor.

My plaster is cracking because of an idiot building a slab house. Will wonders never cease?

Boom.

Tremor.