I was a teenager again, and my brother wasn't who he is IRL. He was a rugged, muscular blond guy. He was in his early twenties, but apparently didn't work and was never up to any good. He'd be always hanging up with kids and guys his age in the street, getting into trouble, fighting or messing up with gangs. Still, I knew that he had a good heart - he was always smiling, happy and didn't do drugs or anything that would cause himself or others real harm. I looked up to him - while I didn't want or know how to fight, I liked the way he had fun with his life, reckless as he may be, and how he cared for me.

We were hanging out in what looked a little like an outside parking lot (it looks like the outside part of my grandmother's house - dad's mother). We had several rubber bands, and he was explaining me how to use them as slingshots. He was telling me that there was a very specific kind of rubber band that could be used to slingshot rice. He held a handful of uncooked rice and explained it to me very seriously. There seemed to be an importance to shooting rice, and a science to it, both in choosing the right rubber band and in the technique it involved. I was skeptical - I picked a common rubber band and asked if I couldn't just use that one. He assured me that no, it had to be a special one. I picked a piece of gravel from the ground an held out my fingers in a V, then pulled the rubber band around them and pulled the stone, shaping it as a slingshot. I showed it to him - it was easy just doing that! Why use the special rubber band?

He didn't have time to explain, as a large group of good-for-nothing guys showed up. Much like him, they were just going around having trouble, without a care in the world. They were setting up informal street fights, within the group or with newcomers. My brother was more than happy to join them. He headed into the crowd and picked a fight with their leader, a guy who was also blond, but who was considerably bigger. At first, the fight seemed balanced, but soon I noticed my brother was losing - the other guy was tougher, so my brother's punches weren't hurting him that much. I thought about how I couldn't help him, since I couldn't fight, and became a little worried. On the other hand, he still seemed to be having fun, so I didn't stop them.