SINGLE MALT AND SHE’S BUYING
She picks up the stray off Belair Road. It has a collar with a snapped lead. It was pacing with a low back and rumbling teeth in the McDonald's parking lot. When she opens her door, the dog jumps in.
What are you doing? she asks the dog.
The dog sits down in the passenger's seat and looks out the window. It licks her ex's cheek print off the glass.
I've been meaning to do that, she says.
They eat hamburgers.
She drinks vodka and cranberry.
Hangovers make her cry. They make her say things she wouldn't say when drunk. Things like, I'm in a box and I can't read Chinese. Like, I'm sending all the answers back in Swedish. Where is the slot? There is a ghost machine in my pussy.
The dog is named Hank Williams. She puts posters up and down Belair Avenue with Hank's grimace and her phone number. A few people call to tell her she has an ugly dog.
Hank knows not to talk. He's a sentient, not a conscious being.
They get hamburgers for dinner.
Hank doesn't eat.
She tries to get him to sleep on the bed with her, near her feet. Hank doesn't understand.