Jacob Aiello

In between trees and parked cars I see flashes of brown and white across the street. I’m running, and in one hand I have Seymour’s collar attached to his leash and in the other hand I’m holding a lit cigarette. I spend a lot of time after thinking about the lit cigarette, the three blocks I run holding it between my fingers thinking that I can still catch Seymour and finish my cigarette while I walk him back to the apartment.

Originally published Spring/Summer 2019 in Ninth Letter, Volume 16.1. Nominated for a Pushcart prize.

Available to purchase here.