The woman in the house across the street decides to leave. A man walks out of a bar and disappears. In California, half a million people all look up at the sky, and find that there is nothing out of the ordinary.

On the shoulder of a highway two brothers kiss in the back of a car while their father sleeps in the front seat. Another man in another car, going forty miles an hour in a one hundred-mile zone, shakes his head at something said on the radio. A house in the middle of nowhere, recently foreclosed: the wallpaper in the living room slowly peels away.

We have school tomorrow, Kyle.

I’m sorry to take you back to Wichita

from your family in Chicago. I made Emmalie

take a picture of you and Agnes sleeping

in the backseat. I’ve just smashed a monarch

on 36 highway, and the Sun is fleeting.