Leave Them Wanting More

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Evening. Trees rustled, a leaf tumbled, skated on the concrete, in the opposite direction of a woman who wore a powder-blue hoodie, baggy sweatpants, running shoes. A Pomeranian dragged the woman towards a lamppost, where it stopped to sniff. The woman waited, shivered under the dull, orange glow.

Above, from a second-story window, Dennis’ eyeglasses briefly glinted as he peered over his laptop screen and out the window. He watched as the dog lifted its hind leg, urinated. The woman shivered again, then scuttled off behind the panting, happy idiot. “Whore,” he remarked.

He fell back into the chair, looked at the computer screen, closed a browser window. There, in front of him, were three paragraphs, words and sentences underscored with red and green squiggles. He read over a sentence, blurted, “Fucking whiner,” clacked the delete key, held it, watched the cursor wipe away letters. He stopped, “Fuck it all to shit,” selected the remaining text, hit the delete key again — clack.

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