The Concrete Line We Draw to Keep the Chaos Out of Our Yards
CHAPTER 1: THE DUSTY GRAY “Stop pulling those weeds, I already called the police.” The words didn’t shatter the afternoon heat; they sank into it like iron into dry silt. Arthur didn’t look up immediately. He kept his fingers—wrapped in the stiff, graying canvas of split-cowhide work gloves—anchored around the thick, fleshy crown of a…