...especially since the shop is mostly a showroom and there’s hardly ever anyone there. But evidently, in his country, people are used to having every comfort and insist on having a personal crapper for when they go down to the cellar.
He even added in a rude tone: “Just let me work!” The fact that I am the one unable to work doesn't matter; the only thing that matters is not stopping him from smashing through walls for months on end. I also wonder if all this heavy demolition work—which is worse than a prolonged earthquake right next to the foundations—will lead to the premature collapse of the building? Every now and then, I imagine the day approaching when the property is declared unfit for habitation. What will we do? I daren't think about it...
He also added: "How come the lady living on the first floor has never complained?" Now, the "lady on the first floor"—the one I mention under the "Condo Perversions" link—works away from home, unlike me, who works (or rather, tries to work) at a computer.