Week #7

outside, in the alley between her building and the laundromat, a boy lay with his arms around a dog the color of dry sand.

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nobody knew of the boy in the alley. not the artist in the dark. not the 3 friends at the drycleaners. the dog in his arms moved closer.

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he squeezed the dog and sang "we represent the lollipop kids..." and the dog whimpered as a cold breeze took his song and their heat away.

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a man named henry sloan paused at the mouth of the alley. if that boy and dog are dead, he thought, i'll go lie down and die right with them.

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the dog could have slipped the boy's arms, but stayed. it growled at henry over the boy's snotty cheek. "i just want to help," henry said.

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henry carried the boy to his apartment. the dog limped after them. people stared, snickered from cars, but no one made eye contact with him.

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with 2 bottles empty, she lacked the strength to reach for the 3rd. her eyes flitted, stopped, closed. she heard a dark and distant howl.