Three nights in a row. Cars lined up for blocks through the neighbourhood. The crowd has grown from last time. More like a swarm. All searching for their sweet nectar.
I called the police again. The patrol showed up and got in line. Shuffling forward to receive their gift.
Enough of this. I storm outside in my robe and slippered feet. Three in the morning.
My temper flaring. “Hey! Some of us have to work in the morning.”
The mob turns to me, parting in unison to allow passage.
The kids at the lemonade stand offer a cup.
“Lemonade, mister?
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