not much happened.  after I was born, father stood outside of a church and watched mother go in.  before I was born, they had eleven cigarettes between them and smoked maybe nine.  

not much happened.  my brothers joined me on a bike ride.  we made visors of our hands and squinted into the sun.  we looked for a hill.  I’m not sure what they saw.  

a boy pulled into a house by a spotted arm.
an increase in sadness.