Homeless and roaming the
streets like an orphan.
It was the dead of winter, and
I was still alive—barely.
My ex-girlfriend let
me crash on her couch for
a few days.
She didn’t smoke.
I did,
so whenever I wanted
a cigarette, I went out in
front of her
apartment and lit up.
One night, bent on nicotine,
I entered the January thaw.
As I had my
smoke fix,
a man with a
huge Rottweiler slowly
walked by.
The dog caught sight of
me, and gave me a low growl.
The guy talked to
his pet like he was
his best friend.
“Leave him alone, that’s his home;
let him smoke.”
The dog knew better, and
glared at me.
He barked loud and vicious.
“Leave that poor man alone.
Let him enjoy his cigarette,
that’s his home,” the man said.
A small dog began
yapping in the distance.
The man said,
“Oh great, you’ve upset that little dog.
Come on, let’s go.”
The Rott gave me an evil look, and
sauntered off.
He recognized his own
kind.
He also knew that there
was something different about me.
He could smell it,
almost taste it.
He knew I was a mongrel,
and a stray.
He knew I didn’t
belong.