In the West Village,
in front of the school,
I'm flagged down.
A young man's found a lost dog.
It's friendly, collarless,
and it won't approach.
We can't corral it.
The city has no after hours
animal control for non-dangerous dogs.
After fifteen minutes of trying,
it's time to move on.
I'll ask around.
He'll do the same
in the South Village.
I look at him,
his car with East Coast plates,
and meet his gaze.
You live on Clark,
between 16th and 15th.
"How do you know that?"
I'm paid to know these things.
He pales, holds his breath.
"Am I in trouble?"
Naw, I took your roommate to detox.
His color and smile return.
"You're the one!
He's no idea
what happened that night."
Well, let me tell you the story.