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Streak of Red


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Just about every morning for the last fifteen months that I’ve lived in Rhek Thum, I take my motorbike to the recently built Tesco Express. Nothing else to do here, and I enjoy my ride.

Just about every morning for the last fifteen months, on the way to Tesco, I pass the local “auto body shop,” where I must navigate around their oil-stained junk pickup, sitting curbside and lacking an engine. Immediately after that, comes their oil-stained mongrel, who has never failed to be sleeping in the middle of the outside lane a few yards in front of said pickup. The first time I saw the lump of rags, I figured him for road kill. But he was there the next day and the next, and he wasn’t rotting, unlike the pickup. But I never saw the mutt move, eat, or bark. Nothing. Just sleep in the road, even in the hot sun, in the exact same position every morning. The guy in the shop never paid him any attention.

Yesterday as I rounded the curve I moved, out of habit, to the inside lane to avoid the pickup. No need. The pickup and the dog were gone. There was no evidence the pickup had ever been in the road, (now it was in the shop, being sanded). The only evidence the dog had ever lived on this earth was a ten meter long, arrow-straight, streak of red.

The guy in the shop was working away as usual.

Maybe the canine got hit by a “Karma Ghia,” and he’ll come back as a Mustang.

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