I remember the first one vividly. It was in downtown Charleston. With my dad driving our maroon red Honda Accord I would look out from the back right, always the back right, as we would pass it on our way to and from the soccer games that he coached us through. Sitting on the right side of the car I always had a much better view on the way back home. It was on the other side of a chain link fence that kept the boarded over row homes separated from the crosstown traffic that flowed back and forth between downtown and the suburbs. An orange milk crate with no bottom that was nailed to a damp and molding telephone pole rising with a gangsta' lean from the glass covered asphalt.