
“You’re telling me you don’t want the money?” Mara Lee’s voice cut through the humid evening air like a blade. She stood on Donnie Novak’s front lawn, glaring at him from beneath her wide-brimmed sunhat, one hand gripping a rake. “Just sitting on it like a dragon on a pile of leaves.”
Donnie shook his head, his eyes narrowing. “It’s not about the money.”
“Bullshit.” Mara tossed the rake aside and crossed her arms. Behind her, a small group of volunteers—mostly college students and young professionals who’d started their Saturday mornings doing ‘yard rescues’ for Green for Green—milled about, eyeing Donnie’s lawn. They weren’t here for charity; they were here for the gold mine of oak leaves and compostable debris he refused to harvest.
“This is about control,” Donnie continued, turning his back on her. “I’m not letting anyone tell me what to do with my property. My grandfather built this place—he worked this land with his hands. You think I’m going to throw that away because of some program that wants to scrape every last leaf off my yard?”
“It’s not about scraping your yard bare, Donnie. It’s about survival. Do you realize how much power your waste could generate?” Mara’s voice dropped, less confrontational now, almost pleading. “You don’t have to do this alone. We’re all in this together.”
Together. The word stung. He looked at her group—their eager faces and their eco-friendly gear, brand-new gloves and garden shears shining in the sun. These weren’t the kind of people who grew up here. Not in this neighborhood. They didn’t understand the pride of raking your own lawn, of deciding where things went and how they grew.
“I’m not giving up my backyard,” Donnie muttered, shaking his head. “This isn’t just some movement you can make everyone join because it feels right. Some of us have history here.”
Mara stared at him, exasperation flashing across her face. “You think history is going to matter when the lights go out? Or when you can’t run the AC in this heat?” She waved a hand toward the sky, where a blinding midday sun burned down on them. The kind of heat that clung to your skin and made you feel suffocated, even standing still.
Behind her, the volunteers had begun to take matters into their own hands. They weren't just here for the conversation—they had a job to do. One of them, a kid in his twenties with shaggy hair, bent down and began scooping handfuls of leaves into a large burlap sack. Donnie's fists clenched at his sides. It was happening again—his space, his rules, being overtaken.
“Hey! I didn’t say you could take that!” Donnie strode forward, voice rising, but Mara stepped between him and the volunteers. She raised a hand, a pacifying gesture, but her eyes were hard.
“Look, Donnie,” she said, her voice lowering as if trying to keep the peace. “People are doing this because they need to. It’s not just about you anymore.”
And there it was—the truth, laid out like a slap. It wasn’t about him. Not to them. The city had become so fixated on the future, on this grand experiment of green energy, that they’d forgotten about the people who weren’t willing to move forward. The ones who liked things as they were.
But Donnie wasn’t just anyone. He was stubborn, yes, but his roots went deep. This house, this lawn, these trees—they were all part of his family’s legacy. A legacy he couldn’t let go of, not for all the wealth the city promised.
“You’re trespassing,” Donnie growled, his voice quiet but firm. “And if you touch another leaf, I’ll call the cops.”
Mara flinched, surprised. “You’re really going to escalate this? Over some yard waste?”
“It’s not just yard waste,” Donnie replied, his voice almost a whisper now. “It’s mine.”
Mara opened her mouth to speak, but one of the volunteers called out. “Look at this!” The group gathered around the edge of Donnie’s property, near the alley that separated his land from the rest of the block. There, behind an overgrown patch of bushes, was something none of them expected.
The back of Donnie’s yard was piled high with debris—not just leaves and branches, but broken furniture, old electronics, and bags of refuse. A dump of sorts, hidden from view, where Donnie had been quietly stockpiling what others would have composted or converted.
Mara’s eyes widened as the smell hit her. “You’ve been hoarding this,” she said, her voice low with disbelief. “All of it?”
Donnie stepped forward, his face pale. “It’s my land. I can do what I want.”
“But you could power the whole neighborhood with this!” Mara snapped. “What are you even—”
Before she could finish, the rumble of engines cut through the air. A fleet of trucks, emblazoned with the city’s logo, pulled up to the curb. City officials stepped out, their faces grim.
“Mr. Novak,” one of them called, approaching the house. “We’re here under the new ordinance.”
Donnie’s heart sank. The ordinance had passed, despite his best efforts. It allowed the city to confiscate waste that hadn’t been turned over voluntarily. They were coming for it all.
The trucks rolled forward, stopping just short of the yard. Mara stepped back, eyes wide as the volunteers froze in place, unsure of what would happen next.
Donnie turned, fists clenched, watching as the city moved in on his land. For a moment, everything was silent, suspended in the stifling heat.
Then the lead truck’s doors opened, and the men climbed down, tools in hand.
“Donnie, please,” Mara whispered, her voice tight with worry. “Don’t do something you can’t take back.”
But it was too late. He stepped forward, standing between the workers and his pile of debris.
This wasn’t just about a yard anymore.
It was about what he was willing to lose.