Cold Morning Rise

Rise and shine! Bailey's tail thumps against the nightstand, a jackhammer wake up. The glass of water vibrates, threatening to topple over onto Carson's pillow. Again. He never learns. Either move the glass or get a bottle with a locking lid. Or close the door at night so at 6 am the dog doesn't inadvertently wake him up with a cold shower.

Hungover. Slow moving. His eyes start to focus then bam, it hits him. A flashbomb blinding his vision. It's a new year. No idea what time he called it a night- somewhere between three bottles of Veuve and free flowing shots of Patron chased with salted pistachios and fried plantain. Friends with strange predilections. The remainders- cracked lips, salt-stained fingers and greasy cheeks. Depleted.

Bailey paces, whining under his breath, drool leaking from his bear head. Carson swings his legs over the bed, heels hard on the cold floor, head in hands spinning, throbbing. Bailey's mastiff tongue shellacs his face, grooming his bed head while tearing at his tattered boxers with a paw the size of a softball, eagle talons and sandpaper foot pads sloughing off layers of skin from his thigh.

He means well. Poor dog's just gotta pee. Christ, it's early. Happy new year, you beast. The rad clangs in fits and starts, hammer on steel. An insistent reckoning ringing in the new year. Wake up. WAKE UP. Get up, go to it. The ground spins. Whoa. Carson clutches Bailey's back, a steadying of states. The two of them amble, slow motion towards the door.

The moon hangs low. A bright reflection on the miles of white  surrounding them. Air so cold it's still. Carson shoulders the door to release the deadbolt. He swings open the airlock and stands at attention as the frigid air engulfs them. The dog pads out into the yard, disappearing in the dark, a lone black figure slowly fading in the distance.

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