A Fine Cold Day in the Park

The dog runs up and sniffs at the outstretched and curled fingers of the man lying on the bench.

Jumping back and baring teeth, nose crinkled, the dog tries to decide whether to bark or bite. The owner runs up, apologizing and yelling at the dog in the same breath, trying to clip the leash to the collar, but can’t because the dog, nervous, scared, stalks, hackles raised from one end of the bench to the other, staring at the man lying there.

Finally leashed, the owner disturbed, and knows, but won’t acknowledge, the man on the bench is dead.


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