Lines down, power out, Ryan and points south

Concussively detonating all illusions of renewed intelligence and sleep, this morning's jackhammers were succeeded by a noise so relentlessly loud and penetrating it was like waking up inside a turbine. It vibrated the bones in our chests. It was not just unpleasantly pitched, it was shockingly painful. Passing it on the street was so air-shattering I couldn't understand how it was legal to run on a residential street without warning all households within at least the three-block radius I had to walk before I began to feel that earplugs even meant anything. I still can't. Hestia had made her nest in the hall closet. I am made of adrenaline. [edit] The culprit seems to have been a vacuum extraction truck. Our neighborhood should have been issued airport worker ear protection.