walking.

he pulled a cigarette out of the pack and he just started walking. walking through the house with the paper/tobacco/filter tube just barely stuck to his bottom lip and dangling dangerously towards the carpet. walking through the front door with his hands digging through his pockets filled with lint and old reciepts and that movie ticket from the show that he went to with her, when she watched the movie and he watched her breathe. walking down the sidewalk with his fingers click. damnit. click. fuck. click. DAMNIT. click. ugh. tossing. that old lighter to the sewer drain in the street. walking walking walking to no place in particular with that cigarette still dangling.

i think maybe he forgot about it.

until he stops and sees that annoying little dog that used to step on his feet and yap in his face when he was trying to walk down the sidewalk. but he's not stepping on anyone's feet. and he's definitely not yapping. he's barely even breathing. and the street underneath him has turned a deep deep shade of purple. and the hair near his mouth and ears has developed red stripes that trickle down to the purpley red asphalt.

and the cigarette falls from his lips and rolls off the curb into that little puddle of red that's starting to pool in the gutter.

now he's kneeling at the curb watching the dog slowly take his last few breaths. and he's reaching towards the animal to see if the damage is as bad as it seems. and he's rolling him over and recoiling at the sight.

now he's running to the front door and pulling the curtain down from the door to the front room. and he's running back outside and he's breathing hard and his face is stinging and his eyes are burning and goddamnit he hated that fucking dog.

but he's kneeling again. and lifting the lifeless body and wrapping it in the curtain that his mom made and will probably be mad about. especially when he doesn't explain why it's gone. because it's not like she would really want to know. or really want it back if she did. and he's made her cry enough for a lifetime.

and he's walking. down the sidewalk. carrying futility wrapped up in $3.99/yd green linen. walking to somewhere that i cannot follow.