In between trees and parked cars I see flashes of brown and white. I’m running. In one hand I have Seymour’s collar attached to his leash and in other hand I’m holding a lit cigarette. That’s the detail that brings me back: the lit cigarette. That I still think I can reach Seymour and finish my cigarette as I walk him back to the apartment, that any of this won’t be anything more than an inconvenience.

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

Available to purchase here.