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Arthur nodded. He was a man of action, but first, he was a man of research. He spent the morning at , a local showroom where he spent an hour cranking manual handles and feeling the weight of acrylic fabrics. He loved the local touch, but his wallet winced at the "custom installation" fee.

Finally, he drove to the on the edge of town. There, under the humming fluorescent lights, he found the middle ground: a sturdy, semi-cassette model he could haul home in his truck that very afternoon.

The sun didn’t just shine on Arthur’s patio; it attacked it. Every afternoon at 2:00 PM, his backyard transformed into a shimmering wasteland where plastic chairs softened and iced tea reached a rolling boil in minutes.