It shoots through schools. The multicolored pants . Things get messy. Shoe strings and manifestoes strewn across the city, a smoky skyline, a deranged cry from inside the walls. Real cops don't know how to cry.
Real boys make their toys out of noise, and kitchen supplies.
Her couch was a yellow piece of glass, but no one considered the consequences of tall men afraid of wind. The gunman . We played a game with our ears. First she would tug on mine, then I would tug on hers. Screaming real close to the drum.