Somewhere between July Fourth and the dog days, summer doldrums set in. Too hot for baseball, too hot to fish, too hot to swim, too hot to act happy, too hot to work up a good argument. My older brother and I would flop on the front porch, sulking and sweating. Then trouble started.
“What do you think would happen if you put a bullet on the train tracks,” my brother asked.
“I don’t know. You got one?” I hopefully inquired.
“Nah.” We soaked up the disappointment.