A Street-crossed Lover
KJ Hannah Greenberg
Tandy dipped a forepaw into the puddle. Brackish liquid, likely a mix of petroleum, anaerobic bacteria, and traces of raw sewage coated his fur.
 
He glanced over his shoulder. Jackie had promised to meet him under the bus stop’s seat at the corner of Fifth and Harrison. Trouble was, there were two such stands. The forked pathway that was Harrison had both oncoming and outgoing traffic lanes.
 
In contrast, Randy had been obedient, courting Mackie only in fields of forbs on their side of the highway, and beneath the overhang cropping out beyond the local warrens. In balance, Mandy had won Kackie by hopping to a streetlight in a forbidden supermarket parking lot.
 
Tandy’s heart plopped. Jackie was preening herself under a bus stop seat two lanes of traffic away. Inhaling, he hopped from curb to traffic island and then almost to the second curb. Distracted by Jackie’s lovely lashes, adorable drooping ears, and remarkably puffy tail, he failed to sight the moped.
 
Likewise, the Puch Grand Prix Special’s teenage driver had missed the lop, so absorbed was he with humming. That the lad wore his hat tightly on his head and that he sported sunglasses did nothing to aid his road skills.
 
A short time later, Jackie made like a bunny with Andy in a cornfield on the wrong side of I-90. Their first litter included five kits.


First published: February, 2014
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