A city official parked his sun faded black car and took a sip of cheap coffee before approaching the door of the most curious property on the block. He rang the doorbell a few times only to notice he couldn't hear it inside the house. It must be broken, he thought. After one solid rap on the door a man appeared. The lines on his face seemed to tell an elaborate story. His brown and grey hair was pulled into a pony tail, but some hairs kinked out like branches of a tree on a cliff's edge.
“Hello, sir. There's been a domestic report from your neighbor of an unkempt lawn. I've been told that you've been warned about it and were aware financial actions would be taken. May I ask why you haven't cut it yet?” said the city official. It was a reasonable question, he thought, amidst a lawn of jungle proportion.
The man didn't answer him for a long moment and before the official spoke up again, the man began, “Well...only because you've asked like you did, I'll tell you. I haven't had anyone to...love for about 22 years. No tender moments. 22 years. And for about 21 of those years, like a fool, I was out here, mowing this lawn 30 minutes every week without even thinking twice about it. Anyways, one evening, I caught a beautiful sunset. And watching that day turn to night, like so many before it, something suddenly became clear: I'd wasted a lot of time. So I promised myself I wouldn't mow the lawn, or do anything else that might deter me from what I'm looking for. I may not know what it is just yet, but I know what it isn't.” The man paused and started again, louder now: “ And besides, what would I gain from turning the fruit of the earth into dead meat?” The man shot the official with a pair of eyes glowing with an unclear light.
The official thought about acting like he understood what the man was talking about, but thought better to ignore it altogether. “According to City Law 2495,” he relayed, “your lawn must be under 2 feet tall, and it is of no argument that this is far beyond 2 feet. Because you've already been warned, I have no choice but to give you this ticket. The amount can be mailed to the address on the envelope, made out to the city, check only please. Have a nice day.” He had tried to be as brief and uncordial as possible, still shaken by the man's unapologetic oddness. He made his way down the path between the overwhelming fields.
He heard the man call again, “Hey...” His voice had taken on a more open-ended tone.
The official turned half way around and murmured, “mmhmm?”
“What do you think of real life and the real world?”
“What was that?” The official heard him but, again, hadn't the slightest clue what he was talking about. But now that his obligations were met, he allowed himself to be a bit intrigued.
“Well,” the man went on, “I always hear people talking about it don't you? They say 'that's not the real world' or 'this is not real life.' But no one ever says what the real life is. Do you happen to know what it is?”
The official thought for a moment. He hadn't been in this frame of mind since his college course in Philosophy. “Well, I suppose everyone has their own idea of what the real world is but no one really knows. It's different for everyone, I guess.”
The man felt an intractable urge to capitalize on the official's new uncertainty. “So I want to know then, why can't growing my lawn be my real world? My real life?”
The official replied, “It can. And me giving you this citation is mine.”
The man felt as he'd been cut down to size and the official felt he had found ground to stand on. No “have a nice day” this time. The man closed his door before an exchange could occur and the official drove off to his next stop.
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