What happened to the old fridge

It’s a bar. It’s a casket.

It’s a frickin‘ eyesore, and a danger.

At 4am, after the bars closed, I heard this loud banging noise down in the back of my house. Kids, I’ll call them kids ’cause I’m curmudgeonly now, they were yelling in between the whacks. Drunken screams from girls, “Ohhhh you’re so strong.”

The brunt of this recklessness was the old fridge from my apartment. They’d knocked it over and commenced to beat it up.

I got out a flashlight and aimed it out the window at them. They dispersed quickly.

Now it sits back there, in the poison ivy patch of the alley courtyard, holding up a beer bottle. I guess the good thing is that it’s on its side now, unable to cause harm to real children.