![]() ![]() "Maybe we should let him out for a little while." Lydia looked at the dog cage, into the big brown eyes staring back at her. She shot a resentful glance at her husband and his ever-expanding beer gut, then sniffed the air. Lydia picked through her mousy hair with a trembling hand. "They better," she said, wringing her hands. She glanced at the telephone, then couldn’t stop staring at it. As the construction noises down the street grew louder, so too did the whimpers from the cage. A glob of ketchup had leaked onto the carpet. Crumpled fast food wrappers littered the floor. "Here." She handed him a fresh beer and sat on the edge of a hideous orange chair, its matted fabric dingy and stained. ![]() "Like there’s anything worth hearing in that so-called brain of yours." "Jesus Christ, I can’t hear myself think!" Between the noisy construction crew down the street, the whimpers coming from the dog cage that sat in the corner, and the pots and pans his wife was banging around in the kitchen, the baseball game on television had become nearly inaudible. "Would you shut up in there?" he yelled from the sofa. ![]() Carl Scutner wondered, for a brief moment, what it would feel like to punt his wife off a cliff. ![]()
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