It's coming around 6 o'clock and Bowser doesn't seem to be tired at all, despite running in circles for 5 minutes straight. We played fetch with some sticks for a while until he broke them all.
The park is close to empty. I'm sitting on a bench that grants me a perfect 180° view of the area. Palm trees surround the space like a gate, with the street just past. There are other benches and picnic tables unevenly scattered about; and though it bothers me mildly, it brings me a strange sense of comfort.
All my life, I've always had a strong sense of order. Everything had to be a particular way--I would need things to be color-coded, or the paper to be folded perfectly, or take an even amount of steps in between each crack of the concrete--small stuff like that. The layout of the park bothered me at first, but I grew to love its imperfection.
"Jesus Christ!"
A startled yelp followed by a soft thud snapped me out of my pondering. I looked up to find a guy on the ground with Bowser on his chest, excitedly licking his face. There was another dog with a sort of smushed-in face that was just jumping around and barking.
"Bowser!" I scold as I run over and remove him from the poor guy. As I pick up my troublesome pet with one hand, I outstretch my free one and begin my apology.
"God, I'm so sorry! He normally isn't-"
I stop abruptly as his fingertips slide smoothly in my palm.
I look down, seeing his frizzy black hair, which now has strands of grass in it.
Our eyes meet.
Oh, fuck me.
YOU ARE READING
Finding Ourselves, Together.
RomanceBookworm Edith Archer is a freshman in college, still new in the world and finding her footing. After living with her semi-strict parents for 19 years and not having many friends, she tends to keep to herself. Slacker Arny Parsons is content with hi...
