Kurt Cobain ducks slightly to dodge sharp corners of a mesh-screen door. His sheepish half-grin fills out a little as he takes in the sight of his friends, one by one, already at the table.
Cards are shuffled. Sounds of rich laughter like gobbling turkeys travel in slow, steady pulses to reach two teens listening and whispering wistfully up in a loft.
A summer breeze follows in through the screen. And off the grown players go.
All hear only sounds of joy and the crash of an ocean not far away.
I don't know anything 