A tangled mess of fig ivy had overgrown the yard, creeping along the fence and up the ancient tree trunks, and sprawling over the ground. In the mornings, coming down the stairs on the side of the house they would often comment on the uselessness of the yard, but it didn't matter anyway as they were rarely at home.
Their favorite coffee shop was a five minute walk through the neighborhood, but the yard was forgotten when they reached the end of the driveway. By the time they had ordered their lattes they had captured and released three different projects, and their thoughts were consumed by an endless stream of logistics, strategy, critique and analysis.
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