Pure Slush

flash ... without the wank


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Chinguashi, Now and Then  >

by Colin Rowe


He was a stray dog without collar or tags, but he had a full set of white teeth and his shirt was tucked in. He didn’t bark; he called me “sir” and asked for my assistance with the proper amount of embarrassment befitting a member of the middle-class. He was a stray now, but he was clearly someone’s pet. He had people who loved him and who had taught him where it was ok to poop, how to approach strangers, and when to say please and thank you. I fearlessly extended my hand knowing I would not be bit, and let him into the car.

“I’ve never picked up a hitchhiker in my life” I confessed.

“I’ve never had to hitchhike” he replied. We talked about the weather for the ten mile drive to the gas station and I told him you have to push up on the black rubber thing while filling a gas can, or it won’t come out. Most people don’t know that.

“Thanks for not murdering me” he said, hopping out of the seat.

“No, no” I replied, “thank you.” 


published 27 August 2014