All those weekend Shed-night binges. All those freezing drunken days and nights in there. Boiling humid days and dank muggy nights wasted. Wrestling plastered toppling tables in The Shed. Drunk as all hell shouting folk-punk red-faced and pop-veined. Ending up half-naked in the kiddy pool after just enough Golden Monkeys and not one missed lyric of Transformer’s entirety. Belligerent quarreling over politics and what jazz is. All those smoke clouds pouring out of The Shed as its garage door rolls open rumbling. All those times the garage door got dropped and crashed to the Shed floor. Getting far out in The Shed. Prepping for a day-trip in The Shed and then wandering off into the woods during the come-up. Back in The Shed bugging out on acid or something. Bugging out in The Shed becoming freaking the fuck out in the front yard flailing. A relaxing night on mushrooms in The Shed all bundled and sharing a blanket on one of four thrift-store couches. The Shed gets a Game Cube. Tetris high-scores in The Shed. 100% completion of Lego Star wars in The Shed. Anal Dykes on VHS playing during Shed parties added for the addled atmosphere. Watching Fractal Fantasies on VHS stoned. Sawing the TV in half in The Shed. VHS memories in The Shed. Pissing off the Shed balcony. Vomiting. Falling. Jumping. Getting pushed off the Shed balcony. Shooting BB guns off the Shed balcony down into the woods and hopefully hearing PING right off the pots and pans hanging from the trees. Lighting off quarter-sticks of dynamite on the 4th of July. The boom like a .357 echoes through the neighborhood like these bygone days not wasted in The Shed.
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