“It’s the police,” Logan muttered under his breath, unaware of his prescience. He tried to roll over, but the pile of socks, underwear, and jeans was too uneven. He got up, snapped on a light, and flopped down onto his stomach again. The arguing stopped. His father or mother must have answered the door. Then he heard his mother shriek. “What?” Curious, Logan threw down the comic book and wandered out into the hallway. He peered around the corner. Two officers from the Santa Monica Code Enforcement Division stood outside, staring at Logan’s parents through the latched screen door. “I’m sorry we were loud,” Ramona said, worried that a neighbor had complained. The officer who spoke wore a nametag that read “Dwight Napier”. “That’s not why we’re here. We’re here about the mess in your yard.” Ramona was offended. “Mess?” “Yes, ma’am,” the second officer, Paul Wedder, said. “We enforce code violations, and your yard needs to be cleaned up.” Jarrod came to the door.
