When you hear a bang and you think it's a car. Or a firecracker. Or a gun.
When you hear a whizzing sound above you and you think it's a bug. Or a toy. Or a bullet.
Bang. Off in a burst of smoke. Up at an angle over the head of the intended. Past the corner of a house. Past an open window of a bedroom where a girl is braiding her hair in a cracked mirror. Past the eves of the next house. Over the roof tops of the next block. And the next. Over the parking lot of the convienience store where several people are turning toward the sound of the exploding propellant. Block after block. The zenith. The slow return to earth. The slowing generates a low buzz. Over rooftops and sloping below the eves. Over a picnic table in a backyard full of friends drinking wine. They look up hearing the buzz. Over fences and into a yard. Landing at the feet of a couple in lawn chairs. A small sound enough for a dog to lift an ear.
When you hear a bang it is a gun.