On The Way To The Place Where We Used To Throw Rocks

Under the amber lights, two men crossed the bridge pushing something in a baby stroller — it was a dog, a grizzled wiener dog draped with a soiled towel. “Want to hear him sing?” one asked. The dog’s cataracts glowed blue. “Sing,” he ordered the dog, “for this pretty girl and her Daddy.” We looked at the dog and the dog looked away and then whined before emitting a full-throated screech. My daughter hid behind my legs and both men grinned and this dog in a stroller continued shrieking. “He’s singing,” they shouted. “Don’t be afraid.” “It’s okay.” “It’s okay!”