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Trample my yard
- , by Mike Toursal
- 1 min reading time
Claire parked her motorcycle and went into the fire station to begin her shift. The phone rang.
“Fire station,” Claire said.
“I want you to know that I’ve just spent a small fortune getting my front yard landscaped. I’ve put in expensive hybrid roses, perennial borders, and even a fishpond with a fountain.”
“That’s nice,” Claire said, “but why are you telling me about it.”
“My next-door neighbor’s house is on fire, and I don’t want you to trample my yard.”
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