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And it's packing the field – on my morning

Normally I don't read in the morning. My apartment – my room – is perfectly situated, backed by a high school football field. None of the noise most houses in the city put up with. Everyone so unaware of it, so used to it. Except during the day and only on weekdays when I'm behind a computer in some other building where it doesn't matter.

Today I decided to read. Having bought a book yesterday and being not finished my current book it needed to be done. Today was also the first day of the year my window was left open all night. I woke up unreasonably early and my room mates would likely not surface for a few hours. The birds had woken long ago (their morning songs had finished) and so there it was, a perfect morning. Only the squirrels trying to break into the neighbours garbage could be heard.

At some point I become aware of a noise, distant. Sounds like a generator and chain saw, permanently set in reverse. It is a ground rolling machine. The kind with no wheels, just big drums. And it is packing the football field. Slowly. On my perfect morning. The nerve. My only consolation is that I'm still sitting in my bed reading, not driving a boring old packing machine around a football field on a Sunday morning.