A home is being made around the corner. Nail guns popping how nail guns pop as asphalt shingles are laid on a firey hot day; that is, rapidly, pop pop, poppoppop. Two on the ends, three in the field, five across total for hurricanes. Too hot to be up there for long, they’re flying fast. Work to be done, money to be made, move move move, keep up keep up - roofing morphs to a competition amongst roofers, always. Pride is at stack as much as money. Fortunately, asphalt roofing shingles are not a cerebral undertaking - make a game plan, shovel coal in the engine, GO, muscle memory takes over, momentum rolls the train, eight hours quickly left in the dust.
The house...is safe.
I would kill to be on a roof, a firey hot roof, laying shingles. When physicality is taken away from a physical existence, even roofing on a hot day sounds like heaven.