Big Old Golden

The drive was over twelve hours. We split it between two days. My throat is hurting. It’s been hurting since we left. I’ve got mucus in my throat and in my nose. I’ve got chills running up my spine and blooming through my pores.

We are all being tested. The dog, poor sweet boy is being tested. All of his toys are being played with by a big golden retriever. This isn’t my place. I have to watch just like Carlos. The golden retriever belongs to Musette’s mom, Gina. We are at her apartment. Musette is telling the big golden retriever to get up on our bed, which isn’t even a bed, but a futon.

“I don’t want him up here.” I say.

“But this is his bed, we are on it.” she says.

“This is the one space we have in this place.”

It’s about letting things roll over me, like water, like Spike Spiegel, jeet kun do, Bruce Lee.

All of his toys are being played with. If this was my parents’ house, and my parents’ dog, I would discipline the shit out of him. I’d slap that bitch across the face. I would move to a private room. I would flip out.

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