I took a step toward her, polite but firm. “Karen, this is private property. You’re trespassing. And these flags, this gate you’re planning, have no legal standing.” Her chin snapped upward. “Not yet.” That made me pause. “Not yet.” Karen clutched her clipboard like a shield. “I’ll be drafting an amendment for the next HOA meeting. The community will vote to place all vehicles within visual proximity of HOA land under shared authority.” It’s progressive. “It’s illegal.” I countered. She brushed off the comment with a scoff. “Laws adapt. Communities evolve.” Then she added, “Almost giddily. Besides, residents deserve protection from rogue vehicles.” My truck was now a rogue vehicle. “Marvelous.” I took another photo of her standing proudly among the flags.

Karen noticed and stiffened. “What are you doing?” I said simply, she frowned, recognizing that word as one that could be used against her later. “You can’t intimidate me,” she snapped, though her voice wavered. “I will not be threatened by someone who thinks he’s above community standards.” I smiled. “Karen, I think you’re forgetting something.” “And what is that?” “You called 911 on the sheriff.” Her face flushed pink anger or embarrassment. I couldn’t tell. Maybe both. “That was a misunderstanding,” she said quickly. “You told dispatch I was refusing an HOA inspection.” “I stand by that.” “You told them I was suspicious.” “You were suspicious.” I was holding a cup of coffee. Her lips pressed into a thin line. It was clear she didn’t enjoy the memory of her humiliation being brought up. Without another word, she spun on her heel and stormed off, leaving me with a driveway full of flags and the distinct suspicion that this was far from over.

And I was right, because that afternoon, while I was returning from town, I saw a tow truck parked suspiciously close to my driveway. The driver stood next to it, scratching his head, looking at a paper in his hand like it was written in ancient code. I pulled up and stepped out of my vehicle. “Hey there,” I said. “Everything all right?” He looked at me, then down at the paper, then back at me. “Uh, ma’am from the HOA told me this truck was abandoned and needed removal.” I exhaled slowly. “Abandoned.” She said it hadn’t moved in weeks. “I drove it yesterday.” He blinked. “She also said the owner was refusing to comply with safety checks.” I pointed to the sheriff’s emblem on the door. “I’m the owner.” The man’s face drained of color. “Oh. Oh, man. She didn’t mention that. I’m sure she didn’t.” He folded the paper and shoved it in his pocket like it was cursed. “Sorry, sir. I’m leaving right now.” He climbed back into the tow truck and took off like he was fleeing a crime scene.