Ocean Front Property

A building on our street is being demolished the French way. Meaning: the façade stays untouched while the floors and walls behind it get destroyed, which takes them months. For a while now, we have been woken up by the noise of rubbish thrown down some large funnel tube from the fifth floor into a container on the ground.
‘I can’t take it anymore,’ I said one morning, ‘It’s like a war zone.’
My husband smiled. ‘I hear it as waves crashing on the shore.’
It helped.
But this morning we had to deal with a whole bunch of fireworks. First there were some low pitched sounds.
‘The ocean steamer is docking,’ my husband said.
Than several  high pitch sounds followed.
‘A beached whale,’ he offered, ‘And a ship in distress, fog horn.’
Finally a cacophony broke loose and I looked at him, wondering if he could save us.
‘Traffic jam in the harbor,’ he said without flinching. ‘It’s the down side of Ocean Front Property.’