There’s More Than One Way to Leave a Ghost

The driver of the station wagon slowed his car to a stop to witness a scene in which two children were standing in front of a house (the roof of which was entirely snow covered) for the older child held a gun to the younger child with his arms raised. The driver of the station wagon did not know that the children were brothers, that the gun the older brother held up to his younger brother was merely an unloaded toy rifle, that the bang reverberating was the older brother yelling—somehow convincingly—bang, that the younger brother fell on his back in the snow in front of their (the brothers’) brick home in a fit of giggles, so when the older brother turned to look at the road in front of his house, the driver of the station wagon dared black ice in a tire squealing escape, and once the station wagon had passed the older brother extended his gloved hand to his younger brother, who left a fat angel in the powdery white.

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