By Anya Chanel
Startlingly, I get approached on the street by a rabid dog, foam oozing from its mouth. An old, ragged cloth hangs from dirty, matted fur. Recognition hits me immediately.
“Hello, old friend. It’s nice to see that you’ve been making good use of your time off. Catch any wild animals lately?”
With a knowing glance around, another dribble of drool and foam cascades to the concrete below. The dog turns around and chases after a sound in the distance. As he reaches the corner of Timber and 3rd Street, a man takes the place of where the dog had once been.
I’m left wanting more….
Creepy. I like it.