Turn 11 of 16

Lead the eight Karens out at nine to begin Birchwood Lane. A 18 year old comes out and starts recording. You all yell at him. He yells back as his body turns to a 56 year old white women. His hair gets longer and more blonde and styled into the Karen cut. Her outfit becomes a black blazer, navy blue ruffled top, white capris and open toed sandals. Sunglasses cover her eyes and the name tag forms.

Nine sharp, and eight identical women march out of Maple Ridge Court in single file, sandals slapping, totes swinging, turning left onto Birchwood Lane like a parade with no permit. It takes four houses before the phones come out. A young man of eighteen stands at the end of a driveway, filming, laughing. 'Oh my god,' he says to his camera. 'You guys are actually real. This is the best day of my life.' Karen stops the column with one raised hand. 'EXCUSE ME. Young man. You may not film HOA business without authorization.'

'It's my property line,' he says. 'I can film whatever I want on my property.' 'Your property has a VIOLATION,' says the pink linen Karen, pointing her list at his lawn. 'That basketball hoop is not HOA-approved.' 'The trash cans are visible from the street,' says Mrs. Jones. 'The grass height is unacceptable,' says the mail carrier. 'The general ATTITUDE,' says Daisy, and that is when he yells back. 'You are LITERALLY EIGHT OF THE SAME WOMAN. This is INSANE. I'm posting this and EVERYONE is going to see—' The yell is the key, the fatal brassy key, and mid-broadcast the change takes him.

His phone lowers. His frame thickens and settles into the sturdy build of a fifty-six-year-old woman, lines carving themselves around a mouth that has run out of words. His skin pales to warm white. His hair grows in a wave off his scalp, straightening, lightening to ash blonde, and swings itself into the blunt jaw-length bob — the ninth copy. His hoodie re-knits itself into a black blazer over a navy blue ruffled top; his joggers run down into white capris; his sneakers flatten into open-toed sandals.

Dark sunglasses rise onto his face, and on the left breast of the blazer letters surface: KAREN — HOA. '—and ANOTHER thing,' she says in the shared voice, pocketing the phone like a subpoena, 'filming without a permit is a VIOLATION. I will be filing against MYSELF.' Eight faces turn to the new ninth, and Karen feels the campaign expand down Birchwood Lane, house by house, list by list.