Fallout (Crank 3)

exiting the driver’s side and

then, in a most gentlemanly

fashion, circling the car to

open the passenger door.

What can that girl do but join

her grandfather on the wide

sidewalk? Together, the two

assess the Cregan place—

a huge, upscale tract home.

One of those houses that

resembles its huge, upscale

neighbors to a creepy

degree. The houses come

in three hues—beige, gray,

and not-quite-white. Not much

to distinguish one from another

except the number of stories,

size of the garage, and gravel

color. Even the plants—native

Texas species, known to thrive

in this climate—are the same.

All, no doubt, must be approved

by the homeowners’ association.

Part of me likes the conformity.

The order. Part of me wonders

if anything ever disturbs it.

Wind? Rain? Hurricane?

Birth? Divorce? Argument?

What difference does it make?

THE DOOR FLIES OPEN