Sunlight cascades through the branches of live oak trees, which line the modest avenue. The aroma of freshly cut grass dances briskly on the humid salty air. On fair afternoons and weekends, the sounds of children laughing or wrenches pinging against concrete are accompanied by the hungering smells of some undisclosed backyard barbeque pit. Working class men and women manifest their reality of the American Dream there; carving out their own little slice of suburbia heaven. Wholly, the neighborhood was as pleasant as pecan pie, but the walls of one small house, on Bellaire Avenue, would incarnate a living hell. Three young men, all in their early twenties, entered into an agreement to rent the decrepit little avenue abode. Debauchery, behavior bordering madness, and the ignorance of youth were the pillars upon which the household was built. Excessive drinking, rebellious parties, illicit substances, and fights became part of standard operating procedure. The boys were careening down a highway, bound for disaster. Alcohol fueled the flames of the deplorable events that would occur during the boys' occupancy of the dank old structure. Raucous gatherings, lasting until the glow of twilight, were frequent. Most mornings, depleted carousers, in benumbed slumber, could be found littering the habitation. The imbibition of spirits spawned bizarre events. Intemperate drinking led one of the famed boys to erect himself atop the kitchen table; hurtling unintelligible threats like trenchant javelins. The words tripped over themselves as the boy slurred, “Shy'll beat yoar razzkitchz.” Unknowingly, the boy had toppled a bottle of high test and combustible rum; its contents inundating the surface of the table. In retort to the boy's menacing statements, one of the cohabitants nonchalantly ignited the flammable liquid with a cigarette lighter; enveloping the table and the boy's feet in flame. The degeneracy of the boys knew no bounds. Harlots, drunkards, and junkies abounded. So immoral was the character of the household, that it's personification is best illustrated by one of the roisterers: a long and wiry bacchanalian, adorned in a coat of shaggy rabbits' fur and crowned with a Viking's helmet, bull horns protruding from either side; but otherwise, stark naked. The house, already feeble in its physical being, would not escape the perils of the boys' tenure. The boys' uninhibited nature would arrange for strange and awkward accidents. Chaotic heaps of fragmented glass and splintered wood were recurrently found strewn about the soiled floor of the aged residence. Another of the boys would find his dubious calamity in embarrassing fashion. The boy had succeeded to swoon a beguiling youthful damsel. Captivated, the girl persuaded her beau to his bedroom, with a seemingly perfumed lascivious gaze. Suddenly, the lovers were impeded by an atrocious revelation: a dipsomaniacal wench lay resting in the small bed; her consciousness consumed by the consumption of ethanol. Infuriated, the boy inelegantly flounced toward the trespasser, but some obscure obstruction lay poised in his path. For the boy, a tumultuous tumble ensued; his body violently flailing in the direction of the bedroom window. The disastrous marvel climaxed with the ugly chime of broken glass. Abruptly, the boy had landed; his hands square against the wall, but with his head entirely partitioned from the interior of the tattered dwelling. All of the boys would be guilty of committing ruinous acts by the end of their term on Bellaire Avenue; something was always in need of repair. Drunken destructive actions were not reserved for the dingy domicile. Combative quarrels often erupted among the boys. Skirmishes left fractured furniture, as well as fractured faces. The boys all were savvy pugilists, but the final boy of the trio was different. Inebriation spurred this boy into sporadic fits of uncoordinated lunacy. Habitually, the boy woke to a sober reality of busted and bloody knuckles, and unusual bruises and lacerations of unknown origin. Explosive outbursts would endanger innocent partygoers. The boy would target the largest of merry rousers in attendance; slyly slipping a hooked arm around their neck, like a hangman's noose, he infringingly retired them into forced slumber. Residents and visitors to the avenue home could never drop their guard, lest they be violated by the intoxicated madman. After a full year's time, the boys' lease would expire and they would part ways. The boys have grown older and more sagacious now, and regard their stay on the avenue as a learning experience. The period of reckless abandon served as a last rite of adolescence for the boys; they have blossomed into fine men, like the first spring flowers after winter's frost. Nauseous memories of their terrible transgressions may be abhorred by the boys, but serve as a lasting reminder that it is never too late to reinvent yourself.