Burt welded a bicycle wheel to a traffic cone in his garage, humming the *Mission: Impossible* theme. Linda, his neighbor, peered through the window, squinting at the contraption. ‘You’re turning my yard into a junkyard,’ she said, dodging a rogue paint can. ‘This is art!’ Burt barked, slapping a rubber chicken onto the structure. ‘It’s a kinetic masterpiece!’ The next morning, the wind howled. The sculpture spun, knocking over a bucket of glue. Linda’s cat, Mr. Whiskers, sprinted across the lawn, trailing a string of yarn. Burt yelled, ‘Behold! The dance of chaos!’ as the wind yanked the traffic cone off, sending it sailing into a bush. Linda stared at the mess. ‘You’ve ruined my lawn.’ ‘Nah,’ Burt said, grinning. ‘I’ve upgraded it.’ He tossed a handful of glitter into the air. It sparkled like a thousand tiny insults. The neighbors gathered, snapping photos. A toddler pointed and giggled as the rubber chicken flapped wildly. Linda sighed, then laughed. ‘You’re insane.’ ‘No,’ Burt said, adjusting his helmet. ‘I’m inspired.’ The wind died. The sculpture slumped. Linda picked up a bolt. ‘We’re fixing this.’ ‘Only if we add more chickens,’ Burt said. They spent the afternoon welding, yelling, and laughing until the sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of glitter and regret.
