She offered me the brick, but I said no. Her flaxen head bent over the sidewalk, awash in oven-hot amber sunlight. She pounded the brick on the caterpillar’s golden tail end. Peeling the insect’s searching, wheat-plumed head and front legs and ruined back half from the concrete, she dropped the caterpillar into a lemon-hued bucket under the downspout at the apartment building’s corner. A smear of blue-green insect guts remained on the pale-yellow sidewalk. She laughed as the larval butterfly spun and spun in the water.