Whispers Around the Cul-de-Sac

By Thursday morning, the rumor had reached the end of the cul-de-sac.

Daniel was scraping dried mud off his work boots on the front stoop when Mark from across the street slowed his riding mower to a stop. Mark pushed his ear protection down around his neck and leaned over the wheel.

“Hey, Daniel. Everything okay with the garage line?” Mark asked. “Karen said you had some kind of short circuit that tripped your temper.”

Daniel wiped his hand on his jeans. “Is that what she told you?”

“Said you came out screaming about two cents of juice and locked yourself in the house to watch camera feeds,” Mark said, shaking his head. “Sounded a little harsh, but I know how she can spin things.”

“She plugged her car into my outlet three nights a week,” Daniel said.

Mark blinked, spat into the grass, and pulled his ear protection back up. He engaged the blades without another word and mowed down his hedge line.