The house is quiet. Curtains pulled back, revealing darkness and shimmering snow under streetlights. Floodlights glow on a stretched American flag. A truck starts down the street.

I sit here and look on through glass sliding doors. Soon, it’ll be morning, and blackbirds will come looking for food. Stale wheat bread and expired hamburger buns hidden under the white blanket. A snowman stands in my neighbor’s yard. A carrot for a nose.

The flag now waves. Wind comes and goes. Two men get in a truck with guns in their hands. Where are they going? What are they doing? A Trump sign stands in the front yard.