They can't do anything about him, post Ronald Reagan, until he hurts a car or causes a head on collision or hits a person or shoots someone. OK.
I have a plan of attack if he pushes out from in front of an SUV and blocks me. LAY ON THE HORN TO COVER HIS SCREAMING. Will it work?
Then after dinner, still full daylight, I heard people climbing the stairs to the 3rd level where no one goes who is not expected. I took the elevator up and saw a nice unthreatening couple, 70ish, with little suitcases and a printout with our address at the top. They were here to stay, for 3 days it turned out. They were nice enough and I was caught off guard enough to let Boyd a step or two into the foyer because I am an SC Boyd and always welcome Southern cousins and because we had neighbors named Boyd who were Depression Okies too (but come to think they are dead and the people who scooped up the house they built are dead too). So I perhaps should not have opened the door. They were prepared to visit, and happy with the vista of the Pacific. A lot for $738. One night? I asked. 3, they said. I thought some Malicious Prankster had scammed them, promising them a stay here and taking their money, for they said they had paid. It turned out that they were to be welcomed catty-corner across the street, in sight. Boyd was miserably disappointed and wanted to stay with us. I was feeling mean after Crazy Frank,and lied to him--"You think this floor is nice? The bedrooms on the top floor are magnificent." "It's the best house in Morro Bay," he said. I did not tell him about the dome that was turning into a pyramid and that was due to be clad in copper in the hope of stopping some of the leaks. I just agreed with him that he had every right to be disappointed, but at least he could look up at the place they thought they were staying in.