For six months, my neighbor acted like my front lawn was his. When I finally trapped his big car behind a concrete wall, I thought I’d won. He threatened me, called in a crane, and promised to pay whatever it took to get his car back. But neither of us was prepared for what happened next.
The crane operator stared at the Mercedes trapped behind my concrete wall, then turned toward my furious neighbor.
“Sir, this is extremely risky. The lifting angle is terrible, and I strongly recommend against it.”
“JUST DO IT! I’LL PAY WHATEVER IT COSTS!” Richard shouted.
I stood on my porch, fighting a smile. Half the neighborhood had gathered to watch the richest man on our street rescue his precious car from my front lawn.
My name is Robert. I’m 48, and six months earlier, I never imagined a parking dispute would bring a massive crane to my doorstep.
