Ah, spirit: the best friend of anyone who didn't actually have votes.
I took a step toward her, polite but firm. "Karen, this is private property. You're trespassing. And these flags, this gate you're planning, have no legal standing."
Her chin snapped upward. "Not yet."
That made me pause. "Not yet?"
Karen clutched her clipboard like a shield. "I'll be drafting an amendment for the next HOA meeting. The community will vote to place all vehicles within visual proximity of HOA land under shared authority. It's progressive."
"It's illegal," I countered.
She brushed off the comment with a scoff. "Laws adapt. Communities evolve." Then she added, almost giddily, "Besides, residents deserve protection from rogue vehicles."
My truck was now a rogue vehicle. Marvelous.
I took another photo of her standing proudly among the flags. Karen noticed and stiffened. "What are you doing?"
"Documenting," I said simply.
She frowned, recognizing that word as one that could be used against her later. "You can't intimidate me," she snapped, though her voice wavered. "I will not be threatened by someone who thinks he's above community standards."
I smiled. "Karen, I think you're forgetting something."
"And what is that?"
"You called 911 on the sheriff."
Her face flushed pink—anger or embarrassment, I couldn't tell. Maybe both. "That was a misunderstanding," she said quickly.
"You told dispatch I was refusing an HOA inspection."
"I stand by that."
"You told them I was suspicious."
"You were suspicious!"