My shed is like a lot of other sheds. ItÂ’s an old shed, flirting with almost 25 years now. ThereÂ’s some rust in parts, it has some dents, but so do I. ThereÂ’s tools galore that assisted in building, fixing, destroying and defending our tiny corner of the world. TheyÂ’re proud of a job well done. Strewn are pieces of memories that beg for momentum to be remembered. Raising their hand to answer the question of glory past. In the corner is a shovel splintered with half the handle cut off. The narrowing part that comes to form a rounded...