Becca looked out the window, watching Paul and Sassy go at it like dogs in the hydrangea bushes. It was only a matter of time before someone dialed 911. She closed the blinds as the weight of the world came crashing down on her shoulders.

The worst thing was there was nobody she could call. The person she usually talked to in times of crisis was presently occupied and with the enemy of all people.

What about Karl? She stared at his business card for an eternity. And picked up the phone.

“911 emergency. How can I help you?”

“A couple of punks are screwing in my bushes.”

“Okay ma’am. I’ll send a squad car right over. What’s the address?”

“University Apartments, they’re doing the nasty right outside of 115.

The dispatcher laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Becca asked, not amused.

“I’m sorry,” the dispatcher said. “I thought you said they were screwing with your bushes, not in your bushes.”

Truth be told, Becca felt a little guilty calling 911 on them, but not guilty enough to lose any sleep.