Mój sąsiad rozbił zraszacze trawnikowe kijem golfowym, bo „woda zalewała jego nowy samochód” – nie zadzwoniłem na policję, ale wymyśliłem coś lepszego, żeby dać mu nauczkę

“He took my patio chairs last summer. Just carried them to the curb because he said they clashed with the street.”

I turned to face her, surprised.

“He smashed them like they were nothing,”

“He did that to you too?”

“He’s done it to half of us,” she replied. “But everyone’s too scared to say anything. He always threatens to report people to the HOA.”

That was when I realized Paul’s real weapon had never been his temper.

It was everyone’s fear of what he could do next.

Something shifted in my chest.

Paul’s real weapon had never been his temper.

A slow and steady warmth replaced the fear.

“So I’m not the only one.”

“Not even close,” Sarah said. “The Hendersons, the Alvarezes, that young couple with the rainbow mailbox. He’s bullied all of them.”

For a long moment, I said nothing.

“He’s bullied all of them.”

I thought about calling the police.

But I knew how that would go.

A warning, a shrug, and Paul back on my lawn the next week.

Then I thought about my security camera, the one I had installed above the garage after the flowerpot incident.

That’s when a better idea came to mind.

I thought about calling the police.