The white shed remains the same after more than 40 years - it doesn't look like it's been painted since then. Is that possible?

There was no chain link fence in 1956.
The concrete slab in the foreground was once the "base" for a cinder-block incinerator. Trash was burned in those days - there was no trash pickup. I still remember billows of white smoke coiling up into the blue colorado sky.

The Kasacka brothers lived two houses down from us. Resembling miniature Lee Marvins, they specialized in torturing grasshoppers and other small insects in their carport - the modus operendi being hanging with string followed by application of fire. I vividly recall their kitchen floor being dotted with myriad black dots - the imprints from high heel black shoes worn by their mother.

Once, I got hold of several of their baseball bats and, stupidly and devilishly, smashed them against our incinerator. I was quickly found out and the entire Kasacka klan marched over demanding retribution. My parents were not overly impressed with my actions that day. Something to look back upon and muse "What in the hell was I thinking?"

Karen L**** and I once played "I'll show you mine, if you show me yours" between the house and the white shed. I went first, and in a very unsporting gesture she grabbed hold, pulled, and wouldn't let go. I managed to escape in one piece. Another memory for the scrap book.

Oftentimes temptation leads nowhere but to bitter disappointment, pain, and humiliation.