[Originally published June 17, 2013.]

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WORKER: It’s 6:37 AM, let’s begin hammering.

SECOND WORKER: Are we nailing anything in today?

WORKER: No, we’re just striking the bare, wooden floor with our hammers.

SECOND WORKER: I’ll turn on the handsaw as well.

WORKER: Great. Let it run by itself against that wall.

SECOND WORKER: How hard are we hammering today?

WORKER: Boss wants us to alternate between hammering with great force and exceptionally great force. We take breaks when the man living downstairs leaves the building.

THIRD WORKER: Someone paged me about needing help?

WORKER: Yes, it is 6:38 AM and we need help.

THIRD WORKER: Don’t worry, my workers are currently charging up the stairs as if there were a fire. Each one is from the most unbearable part of Staten Island.

SECOND WORKER: Your men all have gigantism?

THIRD WORKER: And chronic vertigo.

WORKER: We will need help deadlifting these oil drums filled with marbles.

THIRD WORKER: Where should they go?

WORKER: You can drop them right over everywhere.

THIRD WORKER: That should take six weeks.

SECOND WORKER: Great.

WORKER: Do you know the man that lives downstairs?

THIRD WORKER: I have seen him. Was he born prematurely?

WORKER: God, I hope so. There’s no other way to justify his physique.

SECOND WORKER: He must have excelled in his early years and then plateaued dramatically once he reached puberty.

THIRD WORKER: He’ll never achieve our natural, rugged sex appeal.

SECOND WORKER: A trait expected of the American heterosexual man.

THIRD WORKER: I wonder if that haunts him.

WORKER: Isn’t he a writer?

SECOND WORKER: Jesus. Oh, of course he is.

THIRD WORKER: You know what? I think I hate him.

SECOND WORKER: Yes, me too.

WORKER: Me three.

THIRD WORKER: Let’s hammer forever.