The treasurer had been quietly uneasy for a year and finally said so out loud. She was removed by vote, thirty-one to four, and the association refunded every fine it had collected since her election, including mine.

She sold in the spring. I have no idea where she went and I have never looked.

The bin is still there, in the legal spot, doing nothing more remarkable than holding rubbish. Adaeze’s son asked me to help him build a soapbox car in June and we used the same accelerometer, which amused me more than it should have.

Rosalind would have handled all of this in about a week with a casserole and a firm conversation. I needed data. We each have our methods.

Eleven fines and not one apology, and what I wanted was never the money. I wanted one person with authority to look at the evidence and say plainly that I had not been the problem. A man is allowed to take up his own patch of kerb. It took me eighteen months and a reinforced steel shell to remember that.