At midnight, they’re charming. By two, they’re a test of character; each clang is a drill to your eardrum that unearths expletives you didn’t know you had. The breeze fiddles, the chimes nag, and fresh patience is tested one clink at a time as you imagine swiping them into a black hole. You plan a DIY involving a string, a firm knot, and possibly a very tall tree on the other side of town. As dawn arrives and it almost sounds pretty again, you wonder if anyone would notice if the chimes mysteriously disappeared.