there goes the neighborhood

I am sitting on my couch in my nice quiet living room, having come from an extraordinarily decadent brunch of chocolate cake and fruit with a friend.
I am taking a moment to relish the fact that I will have this room, this entire apartment, to myself for the rest of the weekend.
I am drinking in the silence when BANG! the room shakes and some ravenous mechanical monster disembowels the walls below.

Two days ago, I noticed a big banner across the window of the Chinese restaurant I have been peacefully sleeping above for the past three years.
It announced that the restaurant had moved a block up the street.
I am left in trepidation, trying to determine what will take its place.

This neighborhood- Alphabet City- has changed dramatically in the brief time I've been here.
More and more bars have opened up, bringing with them their Heatherette wearing clientele; Washington Mutual and North Fork banks have established their presences here; and the going rate for red snapper at a small Vietnamese restaurant has jumped from $12 to $26.

So what will become of the former Chinese restaurant?

We hardly need another beer garden, hookah lounge, or punk rock bar, but we will most likely get one.
It wouldn't be such a big deal if it wasn't going directly under MY apartment.
See how self-centered I am?

So I am sitting on my couch in the shattered silence of my living room, with nothing but the sound of a jackhammer to keep me company, hoping and praying that what goes in below me is a fantastic little independent bookstore rather than yet another loud excuse for New Jerseyans to come and dispose of thier cigarette butts and debauchery at my front door.

Like a typical American, I'm fine as long as they don't do it in my house.

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