Old Biker Kept Breaking Into My Yard To Fix My Fence And I Called The Cops On Him Several Times

He gathered his tools and walked toward the street where his Harley was parked. I watched him go, completely bewildered.

“Wait,” I called out. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

He stopped but didn’t turn around. “Name’s Earl. And I’m just trying to make things right.”

“Make what right? I don’t know you.”

He climbed on his motorcycle. “You don’t need to know me, ma’am. Have a good day.”

He rode off. And I stood in my backyard staring at another perfectly repaired section of fence.

I called the cops again. Same result. Martinez came, took a report, told me no crime had technically been committed since he was improving the property, not damaging it.

“But he won’t stop,” I said. “It’s creepy. What does he want?”

“Honestly, ma’am? I have no idea. But Earl’s not a bad guy. He’s been in this town for forty years. Runs with the veterans’ motorcycle club. Never been in any trouble.”

“Then why is he obsessed with my fence?”

Martinez hesitated. “I don’t know. Maybe you should ask him.”

But I didn’t want to ask him. I wanted him to stop. I wanted to understand why a complete stranger was spending his time and money fixing my broken-down property.

April passed. Then May. Then June.

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