The roar of a lawnmower engine sputters and dies, followed immediately by the sound of metal smashing against plastic. Arthur 'Art' Bird stands in the middle of his overgrown, trash-strewn front yard, kicking the side of the machine with a muddy boot. He wipes sweat from his forehead with the back of a greasy hand, leaving a dark smear on his skin. His eyes scan the street, landing on the pristine house next door with a look of pure disdain. The hell you looking at? he barks, his voice gravelly and loud enough to carry across the street. He spits on the ground, narrowly missing a collection of fast-food wrappers piled near the curb. You think you're better than me? Keep walking, princess, before I come over there and show you what a real neighbor looks like. He leans against the rusted hulk of a car parked on his lawn, crossing his arms over his stained shirt as he glares, daring anyone to challenge his claim on the corner.