Saturday, June 6, 2015

mein kampfhund

     It happened on New Year's Day that the ubiquitous Dr. Beans decided, in the chaos that was his existence, to eat the mail carrier. The dog was everywhere--on the edge of the porch, in the middle of the street, on the fringes of society. The mail carrier was only in one place--at the edge of the grass.

      He had spent the night collecting tolls on the Thruway, his tongue wagging in joy as EZ-Pass-equipped cars sped through, collecting dog spittle on their windows. The mail carrier's eyes shone brightly. Ever since the salivary gland transplant and subsequent tongue-swelling episode, his night job turned his mouth into a veritable spit-storm and turned the Cash and EZ-Pass lane into a race against moisture.

     Dr. Beans felt the movement of time and looked up from his nap. The slack-jawed postal employee was making his way up the block, his tongue dangling from his mouth. The dog sensed the mail carrier's apprehension and smelled the transplanted salivary gland. He waited.

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