My brother hits me hard with a stick so I whip a choke-chain across his face. We're playing a game called Dynamite where everything you throw is a stick of dynamite, unless it's pine. Pine sticks are rifles and pinecones are grenades, but everything else is dynamite. I run down the driveway and back behind the garage where we keep the leopard frogs in buckets of water with logs and rock islands. When he comes around the corner the blood is pouring out of his nose and down his neck and he has a hammer in his hand. I pick up his favorite frog and say If you come any closer I'll squeeze. He tells me I won't. He starts coming closer. I say a hammer isn't dynamite. He reminds me that everything is dynamite.