The Cold Gray Line of Cedar and Turf Where Suburban Sovereignty Is Bought with Proof
CHAPTER 1: OVER THE FENCE The damp turf gave beneath Mark’s work boots with a heavy, wet compression that tasted of cold iron and stagnant winter rain. Two paces past the back porch, the smell reached him before the visual clutter did—decaying pine needles, crushed lime shale, and the sour tang of wet garden waste…