The dog is chasing its tail. Half an hour ago, it suddenly decided that this is a worthy activity. I thought it was amusing at first. Now, I'm just confused. I want to yell, "Stop! What's the point?" But 1) it can't understand me; and 2) people might think I'm crazy for talking toyelling at an animal. So I sit here at a little window table in a little coffee shop just around the corner, staring at this little shi tzu half-breed, chasing after the elusive.

The waitress is someone new. I've never seen her before and her inexperience in the service industry shows in the way she messes up my order. I think, "Hey, moron, I ordered Fro-Reo. What the fuck is this?" But I don't actually say that and the manager comes over and personally apologizes. I feel cheap, appeased by a mere apology, but I'm not particular like that. Most of the time, I don't mind. It's just today.

There was a pile of ash inside the red-lacquer wooden box surrounded by lilies. That used to be my uncle. Cancer, it's called. Everybody who saw him go say that it was like he just fell asleep, his first deep, non drug-induced sleep in a very long time. Liars, all of them. And that includes the priests. I was there. Imagine trying to catch your breath and not being able to. Imagine someone parking their cars on your chest. It was like that.

Death is horrible. It happens. And new waitresses mess up your order. And dogs chase their tails. And I --

I drink my cold cup of Fro-Reo. I glance around for the dog. It is now lying on its stomach, its nose pointing towards the door, tail wagging. Just beyond that door is someone familiar and it prefers to wait.

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