The man pulls another beer from the box and struggles with the twist off. He cocks his elbow out, brings his hand to his ear and tries to flick the cap into the coffee can on the workbench across the shed. It goes wide.
“Son of bitch.”
He drinks and pulls the wrinkled sheet from his front pocket. He reads the notice again.
He crumples the paper and finishes the beer. Fishes another one out and hears someone screaming outside.
“Jesus. What now.”
He stands, walks outside. Sees his idiot son running around and stalks off after him.