“Mr. Briggs,” he said, “you’ve created a water trap, sick. This is ingenious.” Clarence raised an eyebrow. “I was just watering the yard.” Jordan stayed a while, curious to see the system in action. At 11:20, another cyclist approached the mulch line, spotted the sign, and hesitated.
Then, with a reluctant grunt, he turned and rode back toward the road. Jordan laughed. “Works better than yelling. Better than signs. You might have started something, Mr. Briggs.” Clarence nodded slowly. “About time someone listened.”
But just past noon, the mood shifted. Clarence was sweeping the front steps when a soaked cyclist stormed across the lawn, skipping the walkway entirely. “What the hell is wrong with you? This your idea of a joke?” the cyclist snapped. Mud clung to his sleeves and splattered his pants, dark stains spreading across his jacket.
Clarence set down the broom. “No. I think I’m watering my yard.” “Watering your yard? You set up a trap! I saw the sensors—this was to ambush people like me!” “You mean the people cutting through private property? Ignoring every sign?” “There were no signs!”