who let the dogs out
Fetid. It’s just fetid outside; sticky and oppressive the air hangs all over me like a heavy coat buttoned up to my chin. I make my own breeze, flying through the air with trepidation and fear of cracking my skull and laying on the pavement dying from a closed head injury with arms broken in six places so I can’t even crawl to the edge to get out-of-the-way of fellow pedestrians, bike nazis and punks on longboards.
Rollerblading to the beat in my head I imagine bursting into song, pitch perfect and lovely and the sea of human debris sweaty from exercise -they all turn and gasp and clap furiously. I pirouette and turn and leap like I am on my ice skates, shaking my ass and waving my arms in the air.
I assign each person a role in my performance and smile at them when I pass by in the loop around and around the lake. A pack of Mastiffs amble by with brindled haunches, tongues lagging, eyes drooping using every effort to put one paw in front of other and I imagine and assign a theme song to them.
A pitbull strains its leash confused and curious at my speed and height I hope it doesn’t chase me down, breaking free from its owner and attempting to eat me alive. Music may soothe the savage beast.
Exasperated an owner of a too furry tawny brown mop lopes into the square each time I pass admonishing their dog for running into the road while unleashed and he is clearly tempted to boogie with me.