Member-only story
On the Verge
Short Short Story #69 (teeth like razors)
The puppy humped the pillows beside him on the bed of the air BnB. The vigor and enthusiasm were a primal drive, no sex involved, not yet, it was pure energy. The man wondered what he was doing here, more than 300 miles away from his lover, the one he wanted to hump like a playful puppy.
Sunday morning. No hangover. No more milk for his coffee. He was going to have to wait for his daughter to wake up in the next room. She needed to manage this bright brown fury of a furball. Her hangover stalling his morning and anticipated departure towards home and the woman.
The puppy had to go. He was going to tear the bedspread into pieces. On the floor, he dove at the man’s shoes like they were playmates. The smells on the bed that had triggered his male impulse gave way to play and destruction. Pup and shoe clunked down the hallway out of sight.
The man went on writing and thinking about the six hours of high-speed emersion in loud rock music in the coming road trip; a journey of singing and introspection.
He loved the puppy.
He loved his daughter but wished she would wake up.
He loved the woman he was driving towards.
