I found the orange cord first—snaking from Ron’s garage, across the fence line, plugged into the outdoor socket on the back of my house.

I marched over. “That’s my power you’re using. It’s on my meter.”

He leaned in the doorway, grease on his hands, and laughed. “C’mon, it’s only pennies, mate.”

I bought a lockable cover that afternoon and screwed it down like a padlock on a diary. Felt justified. Felt… tidy.

Continues…