The last ferry went at midnight; the horn carried up the hill.
The corner had a plane tree and a shuttered grocery. The notice on the street door was at eye level.
By two the cold had come up through the step. A cat went under the tape at one end of the block and came out at the other. A window across the street lit, held a minute, went dark.
The machines came at four, with their own light. A low-loader first, then the excavator walking itself down the ramp, one track at a time. Two workers paced the fence line, shaking each post. A thermos went around and steamed.
First the birds, then the light. The streetlamps cut out together at half past five. Swifts came in over the roofline and turned.
By six there were people on two balconies across the street.
The generator changed pitch. The arm went up past the third floor and waited. The first bite took the parapet. The facade held through two more, then went all at once, inward, floor onto floor, and the sound arrived half a second behind. A step back met the tree.
A worker walked the perimeter with a hose and made mud of the nearest dust. The rest went up and crossed the street. Something white went up with it and came down more slowly.
There was dust on the new leaves.