The name is the sentence a neighbor says over a fence, and that's about right for how the work travels here. August in Marcus Hook is thick — the air holds the river, the rails hum at the low end of the borough, and grass grows faster than anyone means it to. Brian Cuts My Lawn keeps up with it: weekly mowing, string-trimming the awkward corners around steps and gate posts, blowing the walks back to bare. The satisfaction is small and total, a yard that was ragged at nine and squared away by ten. Marcus Hook and the towns strung along the river line share the route.