The Shed

By Tina Traster


These boys are not from here. Slicked backed hair, body-hugging polyester pants, gold medallions nestled on their exposed, chiseled hairy chests, John Travolta struts. These are the boys I met in Bensonhurst at a disco. I didn’t think they’d come to my backyard party when I handed them a note scribbled with my address.

Please explain what just happened….

I can’t explain what just happened, that can get masochistic. Explaining is what you have to do when you’ve been put on trial. It’s always up for speculation and interpretation. “What just happened.”

I will tell you a story, that’s more fun. I was looking for a new location to shoot photos of my work and also have a vacation. I had gotten wind from a friend about an agave moonshine called Raicilla. That was all the inspiration I needed to begin my hunt. I found my love, my agave treasure. Which, in its creation, was probably sucked through a radiator, beachside, in Yelapa, Mexico. To get to beautiful Yelapa, one has to travel by boat. The green-blue water lapping onto the white sand was tempting me to bask like a sloth, but I had my agenda and only a few hours left before I had to climb back aboard the grey-haired speedboat headed for the “All-Inclusive Puerto Vallarta.” To my fortune, a very cheerful and large mustachioed man approached me with a huge Iguana relaxing around his neck. He asked if I wanted a margarita.  I said in terribly rough Spanish, “How about Raicilla?”

His squinty eyes flashed a mysterious smile as he told me to meet him under his cabana….