Here's the view from our neighbor's third-floor rear window (thanks, Chris). The sheer scale of this job is incredible. Today they were working around the odd, shed-like dormered aerie that sits atop our kitchen. I have absolutely no idea how the guys get those huge sheets of plywood up there.
All day, they rained blows down upon the house; it was like living inside a kettle drum. The crew are mad hard workers. They don't bother to use ropes or harnesses, and mostly spurn filter masks even when raising clouds of ancient dust, despite my entreaties. Several are of Mexican Indian descent, sporting long black braids, floppy hats or bandannas and wild tattoos (and, in one case, a Ramones T-shirt). I sat trying to eat a sandwich while what looked like Aztec ninjas rappelled up and down past the kitchen windows. The new plywood appears to be measured with precision; the original old wood cladding on the little tower looks as if it had been fitted into place by a child making a hasty school project out of tongue depressors.
There's just a bit of debris in the driveway right now.