700 a.m. I’m drinking coffee on my dock when the HOA president crosses my lawn with a surveyor and two sheriff’s deputies. Darlene doesn’t knock. She thrusts a clipboard at me, screaming, “I have 48 hours to get off Community Lake access or will remove you.” Her perfume hits me before her words do.
Expensive, aggressive, suffocating. Her Lexus idols in my driveway, driver’s door still open like she owns the place. The deputies look uncomfortable. Neighbors are filming from their porches. I take another sip. Stay silent because inside my house is a 1947 deed proving I don’t just own this property.
Continue on the next page:
