A rubber band sailed across the workshop, hit a tin can on the shelf, and knocked it over with a satisfying clink .
“You can’t buy these anymore, Uncle Leo,” Sam had said, his eyes wide. “My friend’s dad says you have to make them.” rubber band gun template
Leo picked up the template, folded it carefully, and placed it back in the drawer. He closed it softly, but this time, it didn’t sound like an ending. A rubber band sailed across the workshop, hit
Thwack.
For the next two hours, they worked. Leo cut the pine with a coping saw, his arm aching by the second piece. Sam sanded the edges until they were soft as silk. They broke two clothespins trying to get the tension right. A rubber band snapped, hitting Leo on the cheek, and Sam laughed—a real, un-pixelated laugh that filled the dusty room. He closed it softly, but this time, it