When Mark moved in next door, his scowl arrived before his lawnmower—and that thing ran like it had been trained in the military. Precision. Volume. Fury. I introduced myself with honey from my backyard hives and a basket of warm muffins. He took one look, sneered, and closed the door. I tried again—sunflower cuttings, a friendly wave, a few polite hellos. Nothing but grunts and glares. Then came the final insult: one morning, I walked out to find my beloved flower bed—roses, marigolds, lavender—all gone. In its place? Fresh cement. A perfect gray rectangle, poured overnight. I guess he thought I was harmless. Just an old woman with bees and a soft voice. Big mistake.

First, I filed police reports for property damage. Then, I contacted the city about the massive illegal shed he’d built without permits—complete with floodlights and a suspicious amount of wiring. Code enforcement came knocking. And I took him to small claims court for the flower bed. With photos. Dates. Witnesses. The works. He lost—spectacularly. The judge ordered him to pay damages and rebuild my garden…