A jackhammer has been resounding through my beloved’s apartment building ever since dawn. It is late afternoon already, but the rumpus is not yet subsiding. As far as we can gather, a water or gas pipe in the restaurant on the ground floor has either burst or gotten clogged up. Several workmen in uniforms are now breaking through the concrete deck through which the pipe runs. “This would take only a few minutes in America,” I mumble to my beloved. “The pipe would run just under the floor and between wooden beams.” She keeps mum, but most Europeans consider American buildings to be mere shacks. “Easy to repair,” I continue as if to myself, “and easy to demolish and cart away, too.” My beloved keeps mum. “What is more,” I raise my voice a bit, “you get so much more space with the same amount of money!” My jackhammer blues does not seem to reach her, though. After a while, she shakes her head: “What if we, too, lose water or gas?” An excellent question, this.