Across the street, the Bungalow with its burnt, proud brick, stubborn and red standing tough since the end of last summer has finally and inevitably begun to come Undone The shingled and slanted roof layered one too many times like grandmother's ice cream cake has, in spite of its patient protests finally relented to the hollering hinges that have born the weight of winter's snow The aluminum porch canopy Once the lookout tower for many a snowball fort Now lies collapsed surrendered Scraping a forbidden trench into father's front lawn and abandoning its ally the splintering bench that has refused to abandon its post The dining room is exposed To say nothing of the family's den Each whistling their dismay past beams and joists bowed by long-winded pressure These rooms recall faint memories of dinner parties and movie nights like an old carousel projector playing itself Rain's condescension and Fire's temper have relentlessl...