a telephone rang somewhere, vibrating along the tile counter of a kitchen, the open window from the apartment above and the morning sun finally coming over the top of the building and down onto the freezing street.
trucks drove by. people walked back and forth from the store on the corner. three black dogs of varying size stood tied to a pole near the sliding doors of the store. three eggs for three hundred dollars, read a sign in front of the store. but the eggs had been sold out for months.
hello? someone had finally answered the phone. hello? hello? i can’t hear you! hello? they leaned out the window and tried to speak quietly. hello? hello? jeff? is that you? hello? jeff!
a garbage bag filled with dead leaves had been left, half torn open on the sidewalk, down the way from the store and dogs. big dog city the dogs said to each other. big dog city.. i don’t know, big dog city. their heads bent in embarrassment towards each other and one of them eventually lying down.
a van parked across the street from the bag rocked even, back and forth. two young parents, fucking each other’s brains out every morning after they had dropped their daughters off at pre-school and their silhouettes moving about in the tinted back window of the van, their bodies twisted about in every new position described today in the washington post.
from around the corner came a long gray horse. the mayor of this neighborhood. the dogs cowered around their pole. shivering in the shade, close enough to the sun except for their leash reigning them to the pole. the horse stood in the middle of the street and looked about. those flowers for lunch, as it eyed the leaves, and the dogs for dinner.
call me back! call me back! texts above, the kettle boiling now and the large eggs carefully balanced on the table, waiting to be broken and fried.
the van kept rocking, the smell of people and people and more people rolling out the exhaust.