Start with a musty old radio blaring 90’s rock, letting the neighborhood know the sun has risen. Father striding hesitantly outside to pick up the newspaper, scanning the ground hoping to not see our neighbor Jim. How Jim had a scruffy chin and no job.

Kids running after the school bus, parents gloomily leaving for work, all under the watchful eyes of Jim. No “Hello” or “Goodbye” from Jim as neighbors pass, 90’s rock rock pushing and pulling at the tension looming over the sidewalk.

A musty radio screeching and scratching at the air over the pavement. Father’s fingers twitching as he sips at his shaky coffee, Mother looks nervously out the window probably wondering if she should complain to our beloved neighbor Jim.

It was 8 am, time for Jim to bring the radio outside with a six-pack. Father takes a last swig of coffee and looks out to see Jim scratching his scruffy chin. “Damn slouch, sleeping on welfare checks and my tax money” says father. Mother shakes her head remembering the day our beloved neighbor Jim and his musty old radio washed up.

No one ever speaks of Chris or the day it happened, I was only just born. Jim’s only son, at the promising age of 17 smeared on the pavement. Mother solemnly comments “I’ll never drink and drive” as Jim pop’s another beer and turns up the volume.