“Or you could steal some more,” I say, taking the cigarette and drawing hard on it.

“True.” He holds up the empty pint, admiring it. “I think I’ll toss this in the fort.”

“That’s cool, like a keepsake or whatever.”

Tank stands up to open the door to the fort, but once he gets to his feet he stumbles and has to grab my right shoulder to avoid falling. Letting go of me, he takes a few meandering steps, like he’s lost and has amnesia. He finally makes it to the fort door and drops to his knees. He pulls on the door but can’t seem to open it. Determined, he keeps yanking on it, but the door won’t budge.

“Zach, get over here and help me with this. It probably hasn’t been opened in years.”

The train horn grows louder, only two crossing gates away now. A drunken tingling sensation starts in my head and quickly spreads throughout my body.

I stand and walk toward him. On the way over, the alcohol makes me say the following: “Tank, I think I’m in love with your sister.”

Tank doesn’t reply at first. He’s just kneeling there beside the fort, looking up at me with glazed eyes. Then he says, “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. And if you ever hit on her, I swear to God I’ll rip your balls off.” He pulls on the door with both hands, giving it everything he has. There’s a cracking, metallic sound, followed by a quick snap. Tank has torn the door from its hinges. He’s holding it like it’s a shield, a surprised look on his face. He studies it and lays it aside.

“Guess I opened it,” he says, looking up at me with a smile and a shrug.

That makes me laugh, and I’m about to plop myself down beside him, but just as soon as I take a step forward, my back foot slips and I fall into the weeds. Unable to control my body, I roll down the steep slope, grasping in vain for something to hold on to. Twigs and pebbles scrape against my arms and feel like a thousand bee stings.

I end up on my back, staring at a starless sky, chest rising and falling quickly. The train horn blows again, loud enough to shake my body. I hear Tank yelling from the top of the slope, saying something about wanting to break more stuff. I turn my head to the left and realize I’m lying in the raised bed of gray rocks that border the railroad tracks. The smells of tar and steel are overwhelming. I sit up and rub my eyes. The rails are barely three feet away from me.

I turn and look toward the crossing gates.