you lived in a house where the backyard was dried up daisies. dried up grass and dried up dirt and sand until it all blew away. then the house started to age, started to crinkle and curl the way a banana peel will if you throw it onto the fire and wait long enough. the shutters fell off like lashes and the door bowed out enough for birds to fly in the gaps. the people inside got older without living. their limbs fell off and became a part of the house where everything was shriveling and blowing away. the house started sucking the street in, devouring motorcycles and guys named ben until everything was crinkly dry and thin, breaking whenever the house settled. and the house settled down and down and down until it was the yard and the yard settled until it blew away and birds never flew over that spot because they're birds and they won't be forgotten or blown away.