We had the music exploding loud enough to give us meaning, super-define us.  The flat we shared was in enough disarray to suit us, back us up.  Our clothes, on top of all this, stamped everything around us onto our personalities.  It was an age when I didn't know how much was me, someone else or everything around me.  I thought I'd solved the riddles of the world, but I didn't even know where or what it was probably.  Not knowing was not an option. 

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I'd already shoved all the sensations, coercion and chemicals I could into my body in the building of my Saturday night.  It was all ready to go, emotional pistons steaming in my brain - all the anticipation possible spurred up and firing me.  I was primed and perfect as usual in the early hours of this time of the weekend.  Nothing could go wrong, and nothing did.

In the infrequent dips in the music I caught the sound of the doorbell. 

Opening the door, I saw her there, in her black fake-fur, her dark hair dropping into the glamorous bulky collars of the jacket.  Her red lips were thin more from sadness than petulance, but I knew it looking at them that they could be very sexy, very petulant.  I'd never seen her before, but enjoyed my quick read of her.  My swift desire.

‘Can you help me?'

Her voice spilled out a dry, heaving whisper.  She spoke in a way which moved the shape of my face from wily to grave - it was quite a shift, but a fast one.  Made quicker by the black dog I'd not noticed at first, lying limp, but with a swelling chest, in her arms.  It was barely visible against her coat, but its blooded teeth appeared to me suddenly - I couldn't believe I hadn't seen it immediately.

Again, her staccato whisper was urgent, frightened.  She still looked beautiful and now I could help her.  I went to her with my fork-lift arms and we eased the dog between us, both of us shaking identically - it felt like the whole world was gone.  I rolled the dog from her forearms onto mine, our limbs locked for a second making a cradle for the beast.  I glanced into her eyes, but she was fixed in horror on the dog's twitching mouth and blinking teeth.  As I began to move back the animal shuddered in a violent rattle and let out a falling yelp.  The mouth creaked open and spit dripped to the carpet.  She, with her arms by her side, let out a whimper too - not so different in sound.  I looked at her again and the dog rattled, wobbling my shoulder and torso - then it departed into limpness - dead.

Her hand was an inch in front of her lips.  I wanted to see them once more, but the dead dog, which was now mine, stopped that - her hand was not going to move.  It was all over.

She obviously didn't want to say thanks when she just left.  I never saw her again of course.

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I rested the dog onto the sideboard and gazed down on it thinking about thinking.  My friend came from the music with a grin which vanished quickly.