by William Draycott
Thundercat on the vinyl player — he thought it was cool and sexy. Something about doing it in a durag, horny connotations; she liked Sunny Day Real Estate.
His hands found her tight beneath the dress; it was good. His smile was too keen. Stale breath mixed between them, animalistic and repugnantly pleasant. She came and went.
When he was alone again, he was covered with his quilt. The music ended; the turntable turned on. The dog got in. It did stink, and its hair was all over the house.
He was a useless dog.
William Draycott is a cabinet maker and writer. His fiction appears in Scaffold Lit Mag, Free Flash Fiction, Mythic Picnic, HAWKEYE, RatBag, ExPat Lit, and others. He is also a Writing Battle contest winner and pretends to be an editor at Kernow Almanac. When out in public he is often mistaken for Uncle Buck.