Finally met the neighbors, the Meth family. They just moved in more pals. We call them, ‘The red truck people’, and the, ‘Sons of Antonovich’, clan. We’re not sure whether they’re at all related, but, since they all do ninety down this steep drive they have, its seems some genetic makeup is shared. Or, the same drugs, its a pick ’em…So, two of the Red truck people, bury this overloaded Toyota half ton to the rims, spinning away in vain on this DIRT road (No decomposed road base, just fucking dirt ) As they jump around like monkeys humping a jukebox, trying to lift it out of its own hold it just made, here comes the alpha female of the Sons of A., naturally, doing ninety. She’s also towing an empty trailer. Even her super sped brain molecules from all the crank, can’t compensate in time. Hitting her brakes, the truck slides. Not the fourteen foot trailer. It passes mommy and flips upside down, flying in the air, OVER MY 250 GALLON PROPANE TANK ‎…As the dust is settling, I stroll over while slipping my all steel, 28 oz framing hammer into my coveralls loop. Good to be ready. Might have to nail a meth head, me thinks. Nope, their all sweet as pie. “Gee, sorry. It will never happen again”! I smile and nod. Then say, “You can bet a million dollars on that statement”! They stare at me as I walk backwards away from them…I go for my tractor. I sit on my backhoe drinking iced tea, a pleasant smile on my mug. They finally get the trailer away, down MY DRIVE. I whip the tractor around, put it in power take off, and go to town digging out pole holes. Soon as I hit four foot, drove down to the barn, grabbed a 12’er brought from the destruction of PHONEHENGE, set it in said hole, then, repeated, four more poles. Now, these are nice fat, solid, treated poles. After the rest of the poles are in, its beam city between them, then, some stained glass panels for looks boxed near the tops…We’re thinking of a lottery on when we hear some screams then a CRUNCH. Hmm. Maybe a WHAM? Or, just glass?….We’ll see…