At four o’clock, Arthur Peterson came down the sidewalk with a twelve-inch wooden ruler in his left hand.

He stopped by the lilac bed, pushed his silver-framed glasses up by the bridge, and bent down to hold the ruler against the grass.

“Four and a half inches, David,” Arthur said, taking a small notebook out of his shirt pocket.

“HOA section four, paragraph B, sets a three-and-a-half-inch maximum in the summer months.

You know how strict the board gets before the Labor Day block party.”

“I mowed on Tuesday,” I said.