He didn’t want to be caught on his way out way out
It wasn’t his first time at a dog fight
First time
police showed up
He pulled his car out, honking at another who was blocking
his way out
of the
poorly kept lot
He had to be home for dinner
He had to
be home for dinner by nine
He had to
wake up for work by seven
He had to
leave for work by eight-thirty
He had to
start to work by nine
He had to
take a lunch break by eleven
He had to
be back by twelve
He had to
work until five
Every day, weekends held their own routine
Life drolled on, adrenaline was new
the rush of
winning was thrilling
The dogs
were cunning, and vicious and fast
Everything his life was not
Death was
swift
He felt as
if he was suffocating
Working every day
A boring
job, a boring day
Sit down,
pretend to work
Get up,
find the copy machine broken again
Ask the
intern for coffee
Get
it back cold
Go to lunch with the same people
Talk about
the same things
Order the
same things
Eat at the
same pace
Eat at the same
place
Split the
check the same way
Drive back
the same route
Go to work again
Be bored
again
Cold coffee
again
Missing ink
cartridges again
End work
again
Get stuck at the same lights
Get stuck
behind the same people
Get yelled
at by the same drivers
Get honked
at by the same irritable lady
Honk at the
same slowpoke
In an ironic way, even the fights had become routine
On Friday
night head down a dirt road
To the new
location
Find a dealer
But strangely it didn’t bore him
He was
hooked, and he couldn’t look away
He had won the bet, but the police interrupted when he got
his money
He’d have
to collect later.
