"You CUNT."
The man says it, pulling his two big dogs back from the mouth of the alley. I don't know what kind of dogs they are; I'm not a dog guy. I know there are big ones, I know there are small ones, and I know there are wiener dogs. This guy has two big ones.
A car has emerged from the mouth of the alley without the obligatory honk to announce its presence. The man has been walking his two big dogs down the sidewalk and they, being two big dogs and therefore dumb and slobbery beasts, haven't stopped as the car slowly cruises out of the alley. They aren't hit, clipped, or hurt at all. The car simply passes uncomfortably close to them as it cruises past and onto the street.
It doesn't stop at all. The driver looks to his left to see if any other cars are coming, then continues to pull into the street. Maybe he looks at the dogs, maybe he looks at the dog-walking man, I can't tell. But the man pulls on the reins of his dog-shaped horses and they step back, but even with a large roving rectangle of steel before them they don't seem to understand why. The man is confused too, if only for a moment, and then he scowls at the breaklights of the car and yells.
"You CUNT."
I don't know if the driver hears him, but I doubt it. I think that's the point.
(. . .
more . . .)
The man says it, pulling his two big dogs back from the mouth of the alley. I don't know what kind of dogs they are; I'm not a dog guy. I know there are big ones, I know there are small ones, and I know there are wiener dogs. This guy has two big ones.
A car has emerged from the mouth of the alley without the obligatory honk to announce its presence. The man has been walking his two big dogs down the sidewalk and they, being two big dogs and therefore dumb and slobbery beasts, haven't stopped as the car slowly cruises out of the alley. They aren't hit, clipped, or hurt at all. The car simply passes uncomfortably close to them as it cruises past and onto the street.
It doesn't stop at all. The driver looks to his left to see if any other cars are coming, then continues to pull into the street. Maybe he looks at the dogs, maybe he looks at the dog-walking man, I can't tell. But the man pulls on the reins of his dog-shaped horses and they step back, but even with a large roving rectangle of steel before them they don't seem to understand why. The man is confused too, if only for a moment, and then he scowls at the breaklights of the car and yells.
"You CUNT."
I don't know if the driver hears him, but I doubt it. I think that's the point.
(. . .
more . . .)
VIEW 13 of 13 COMMENTS
I think I might still be drunk, though. I hurt my leg and my ass while climbing a fence last night. It's nice to know I've grown up so much.