“The barn's empty and sinking. You see the sky through pauses in the roof; otherwise the wind's muffled. There's bird shit everywhere, and you begin gathering it with your feet into a single pile. You notice that when shit mixes with dust it looks like flour on wet dough. Next you recline across two rusted lawn chairs, unwinding. You sip lemon water and listen to the sky for airplanes taking off an”
