The property had a rod iron fence that was fifteen feet high on the side of the yard which bordered the street. Shorter, much less sturdy, chain-link fences separated the elaborately landscaped mansion from the neighbors on either side. Neighbors, hopefully, are the ones you don’t have to worry about.

The landscaper was drunk and nodding off on the front porch. He had been hitting the whiskey pretty hard today since the boss was out of town and he was expected to be around for house-sitting on the 4th of July. Next to his slumping form lay the butcher knife he had brandished on the street earlier that night.

Fireworks exploded in the sky and lit the dozens of plants and bushes in the yard with brilliant flashes of light. The man paused to see if the landscaper would stir with the sounds. Whiskey had buried him in slumber.

As he approached the porch, the man removed the machete from its scabbard and scowled at his foe. His heart pounded in his chest as rage stoked his adrenaline gland without a thought.