Mildewed seat cushions. Rotting, dilapidated wood from a jerry-rigged mini-golf green. Copious amounts of fag ends and dog dirt.
Even the ratty, salvaged awning from the Barga Gabar lies ignominiously in the far corner.
A once-inviting patio now rivals the World’s Loneliest Tailgate in the Annals of Sad Spectacles.
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