I woke up outraged.

At 8:30 a.m. I was jarred awake by the grating sounds of a chainsaw.

Frank, our backyard neighbor with the swimming pool, is having the laurel bushes removed.

The laurel bushes.

The laurel bushes that stood more than 15 feet tall. The laurel bushes that shielded our eyes from the harsh reality of Frank and his disfunctional family and his pool and his house and his dog. The laurel bushes that muffled the incessant yelling and crying. The laurel bushes that gave us privacy — gave Frank his privacy. The laurel bushes that made our backyard beautiful. The laurel bushes in which we hung a bird feeder. The laurel bushes that, at the very least, improved our air quality.

Our big wall of greenery is lost. Our view from the back porch will never be the same. Never.

I didn’t want to look out the window. I didn’t want it to be real.

I yelled, “What the hell do they think they’re doing?!” at the top of my lungs and couldn’t help but cry.

I went downstairs and stared in disbelief as the laurels fell. I wanted to kick and scream. I wanted to demand that he stop. I wanted to stand out in the rain and protest. I wanted to sue. I wanted to flip the guy off in every possible way. Take that! And that! And that! Asshole.

It’s so dumb, so stupid. He’s such an idiot. What wonderful plans does he have for his backyard? A wooden fence isn’t going to cut it. The laurels were perfect.

I saw Frank smirking from his balcony, watching as his hired help ruined everything. I hope he regrets this. Really, really regrets this.

I want my laurels back, you son of a bitch.

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