A Night At The Museum

I was walking up to the mobile home I grew up in as a kid.  It was dark outside and people were standing around the yard.  Travis and I had just been doing some brotherly fighting before I had walked on into the night for a moment to calm down.

I stepped inside to see a few people standing up, beside the TV, drinking beer next to each other.  I didn’t recognize them.  I walked around the corner into the kitchen to find Travis on the floor hunched over a bucket.  He had two friends sitting on the kitchen counter just above him, helping him funnel something from one bucket out of the sink into the bucket on the floor.  They were trying to make some sort of cough syrup concoction.  I left them to it and walked on.

I walked up the street to a museum where I knew some people were hanging out.  I laid down on the sidewalk, facing up.  Christine came over to do the same.  A friend of mine come running out of the museum.  It didn’t take him but a second to see me and come my way.  He was holding a beer in his right hand.  Leaning over us, he explained that the beer can was extremely old.  He showed the wear and tear; I took notice to the hole in the can which suggested it was empty.  He was more facinated with it than I was.  As he was getting back to his feet, he bopped Christine on the head with the can and ran back into the museum.

A few seconds later, he came running back out again.  This time holding a different beer can.  He went through the same motions he had before; explained the can and then bopped her on the head with it as he was leaving.  This cycle repeated itself three times before I woke up.


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