This wasn't a home. It was a fortress. Brutal razor-wire spiraled along the fence, which traced the edge of the property on all sides. The house squatted, smugly secure, in the middle.

The king of this castle was threatening to unleash 1,800 pounds of canine fury unless I "got the hell off his property." His daughter, a dirty fourteen-year-old girl, was screaming that I was a "Pussy!" over and over again. Anything I might have said in response was lost in a flood of snarls, threats and slurs. I got in my car and slowly drove away.

Just another day at the "office."