IRENE KLENCH

Peering over her steering wheel, Irene Klench surveys the neighborhood. “Ohh, Mr. Freeman, you shouldn’t be watering your lawn during the shortage,” she says to herself as she jots down the infraction in her little black book. Irene heads out early in the mornings with a thermos full of Chock full o’Nuts and an old pair of binoculars. There is no stopping Irene when she’s on her fifth cup. Once she tried to make a citizen’s arrest on Horace when he was crossing the street.
“It’s called jaywalking!” Irene shouts from her car window.
“It’s called a crosswalk,Ms. Klench!” Horace shouts back as he hurries across the street.
“Oh, sorry, Horace,” Irene says, slightly embarrassed. “I didn’t recognize you in your new jacket. I will call and get this crosswalk freshly painted tomorrow.It’s barely visible,” she admits before lurchingoff in her old car.
Irene takes the neighborhood watch very seriously. Nobody is above the law. Not even her.