A one-fingered punch and the truck door slams. The backseat brims full as a hauling van. Yellow-striped handles to a Peloton gleam. Stolen goods. My daughter waves Rapunzel-like from the slanting second story of a hastily drawn building. She’s real-life but the bricks are ink. The air zaps with excitement—we are leaving town. Carnies congregate on the periphery. Uncle Sam clowns about on stilts. An incorporeal head reports, “The Administration has arrived.” My daughter and I drive toward the birch trees bare as starter-sticks for the coming fire. Within the woods everything drawn erases. Crows open their wings.
Oof! Whatta power-packed Drabble. This one is exceptional, Charli.