Neighbors

The property next to my apartment has sold recently. I rather like the new owner, a man in his middle sixties with a can-do attitude and a hands-on approach. He has his own business which keeps him busy Monday through Friday. He's of the "early to bed, early to rise, keeps a man healthy wealthy and wise" type. I won't mention that Ben Franklin was a founding member of the Hellcats Club in London.
The crews he hires all speak English, and clean up the site at the end of the day (which is very different from, and better than, cleaning up at the end of the job).
He takes a personal interest in the work. This often means COMING OVER AT 6 AM ON SUNDAYS TO DO DEMOLITION WORK.
All I'm trying to do is sleep past the morning Mass when the ringing of a sledge hammer on a basketball goal post wakes me.
Blearily I approach with a set of mason's chisels, plus my personal favorite hand sledge. (It's a 3 pound Estwing. Not one of the other 3 that I have.)
"No, that's OK, this way works best with the ExPando SaCrete from the early 80s."
Dude knows his shit. He's wrong about the best way to attack it, but I'm impressed by his familiarity with late 20th century bagged redimix.