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Woof

We met at the hot dog stand. He ordered relish and onions and mustard. His condiments make up all that is unholy in this world. I tell him this.

Through his faded t-shirt, I can see the outlines of love handles and remnants of male breasts. I am sure he was the kind of teenager that spent his nights alone in front of the computer, images of photo shopped actresses keeping him company while his hand does its job.

Despite our different taste buds, he invites me to hang out for the day. I am semi-employed, so I have no excuse to say no. I am now the kind of girl that can be picked up on the street. I make a mental note to pursue full-time employment.

I follow the man to the nearest park. Along the way, I find out that his name is Peter. He is twenty-four and working on his Masterís degree in cyber security. He has a one-eyed cat named Magoo. His roommate is a stock broking intern.

Peter carries a kite in his backpack. Iím flying a kite with a twenty-four year old that carries a backpack. This is not going to good places. Who knows what else he carries in that backpack. Like a machete. Or a stun gun.

I am sure that I am only minutes away from being chained to a sewer pipe in his basement. He probably puts razor blades into Halloween candy. He probably has a favorite font that he uses on the ransom notes.

Like a fool, I still follow. Like a puppy. Woof.

Story by:

Alison

submitted at 9:55pm

1 July 2010

Alison's web:

http://literarycrap.blogspot.com/