Short Story / Disposable Orange Juice

I walked along the school hallways. out the front doors. two men sat across the street, asking if i’d seen their dog. a pup, half pitbull half chow. i said no. but i would look out for it. a child’s broken playphone lay on the ground. it was a picture opportunity i had to pass by for a lack of camera. at the corner, sat a small grocer. the black people were confused. asked if i was from around here. i said “yeah…i’m from around here. i come around. go around. i’m around.” the man looked angry passing me my change. orange juice and a disposable camera. i live for it. i love orange juice. its a shot of tang to the head. i drank it and threw the bottle into a trashcan. noticing a collage of litter i decided to take it out, and set it on the ground. it fit perfectly between a beer bottle and an old popcorn bag. i ran to get the child’s broken playphone. i set the items next to each other, with a molding pack of cigarettes in the corner and snapped a picture. then another. it was like a sunset of materials against the grass. when i had finished, i threw my orange carton away. i began to walk . a cop pulled up to me. i was caught. my skip was good while it lasted. the cop pointed to the art.

“is that your garbage?”

“no sir.”

“well then why were you standing by it? you want to tell me whose it is?”

“well. it’s not garbage. but if it is…it would not be mine. if it is a portrait, it is mine.”

he leaned over further from the car.

“you realize that touching garbage thrown on the ground makes you the owner. unless you throw it away, it is yours. you have littered, young man. that’s a crime. and you have to be fined.”

the cop handed me a ticket.

“sorry, but this neighbordhood is treated like a dumpster as it is. It don’t need you. as a warning, i’m giving you a small fine. do it again…and it will be he regular fine.”

the ticket went into my pocket quickly.

“now pick up the garbage and move along”.

I did as i was told. And i moved along as well. I passed a small church that looked like a business. It was an evangelical church of someone. chained on its step was the dog. Fleas, starvation and all. It struggled on its leash. I unleashed, but it doesn’t come to me. It followed a chicken bone down the street. A preacher emerges from the dog.

“There was an award up for that dog! What are you thinking?”

I was thinking of running.
Like the pup. It made sense why he did now. So i ran, following him. The couple must have thought i was going to bring it back. They stood on the steps, waiting for nothing. I found the dog curled, laying on a pile of trash. a puppy that wore himself out running. I picked him up. He had fleas…and a stomach that wasn’t a stomach. probably bloated by worms. I called him a weird name. Montgomery. Monty. He walked beside me for the day. And on the way home, he stuck is head out the window, and his face looked satisfied to be going across a bridge to a more beautiful home. His eyes closed. His mind was asleep. I pulled out my camera and snapped a shot. Tires screeched. I fell.

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