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Muse does seem to be on a tear lately...
***
The problem with being mates with Jason is that certain of his habits are non-negotiable. I look up at the dull red overcast of a storm rolling into the city night and set my shoulders against the wind whipping us from the west, trying to tell myself that every friendship has its moments and some of them must still be much stranger than having to pretend that it's normal to have to take one's flatmate round the park to do what dogs so often need to do. "Couldn't have gone before we left?"
Jason gives me a wounded look before stepping behind the cover of a shrub to be about it. (I begin to feel a bit of a prat, standing holding a lead to an unseen party.) Once he's done I set him loose to frisk off a ways into the park proper whilst I clean up after him. "We have to live in a place with bloody ordinances," I call after my flatmate once I've disposed of the mess in a bin. He looks back and lets his tongue loll out in a wide were grin, which I can't help but try to match. "Oi, still a wanker, you."
A patrol-car slows and then rolls to a stop in the street beside, window coming down to show a copper and her partner squinting out at the pair of us. Just a bloke talking to his dog, nothing to see here... "That is some dog," the copper says when Jason trots back to press his nose into my hand. "He a labradoodle or a damn wolf?"
"He's a... rescue," I say, clipping his lead back into place, as the were assumes a look of pious stupidity that no true dog would be able to carry off. "Is there a problem? He's, erm, all of his papers are in order..." Here Jason shakes his head, the forest of rabies-tags on his collar jingling ostentatiously. (He just adds each new one right beside when David slips it to him, joking about gangstas and bling.)
She glances out across the open field of the football-pitch with a frown, looking to be weighing the odds of trouble at such an hour. "Well, I don't think anyone will bother you with him around, but the parks do close at eleven, sir."
I muster a shrug, trying to look as if it wasn't my idea to come out on a night like this. Jason starts to cock his leg at a post and then seems to think better of it, looking over his furry shoulder as if to say I can't go with her watching. Another gust pelts me with grit and the first moist intimations of the incoming rain. The copper rolls up her window partway, nodding us on: All right, but I think you'd better get home soon, looks like it's gonna pour.
Woof, Jason says.
***
The problem with being mates with Jason is that certain of his habits are non-negotiable. I look up at the dull red overcast of a storm rolling into the city night and set my shoulders against the wind whipping us from the west, trying to tell myself that every friendship has its moments and some of them must still be much stranger than having to pretend that it's normal to have to take one's flatmate round the park to do what dogs so often need to do. "Couldn't have gone before we left?"
Jason gives me a wounded look before stepping behind the cover of a shrub to be about it. (I begin to feel a bit of a prat, standing holding a lead to an unseen party.) Once he's done I set him loose to frisk off a ways into the park proper whilst I clean up after him. "We have to live in a place with bloody ordinances," I call after my flatmate once I've disposed of the mess in a bin. He looks back and lets his tongue loll out in a wide were grin, which I can't help but try to match. "Oi, still a wanker, you."
A patrol-car slows and then rolls to a stop in the street beside, window coming down to show a copper and her partner squinting out at the pair of us. Just a bloke talking to his dog, nothing to see here... "That is some dog," the copper says when Jason trots back to press his nose into my hand. "He a labradoodle or a damn wolf?"
"He's a... rescue," I say, clipping his lead back into place, as the were assumes a look of pious stupidity that no true dog would be able to carry off. "Is there a problem? He's, erm, all of his papers are in order..." Here Jason shakes his head, the forest of rabies-tags on his collar jingling ostentatiously. (He just adds each new one right beside when David slips it to him, joking about gangstas and bling.)
She glances out across the open field of the football-pitch with a frown, looking to be weighing the odds of trouble at such an hour. "Well, I don't think anyone will bother you with him around, but the parks do close at eleven, sir."
I muster a shrug, trying to look as if it wasn't my idea to come out on a night like this. Jason starts to cock his leg at a post and then seems to think better of it, looking over his furry shoulder as if to say I can't go with her watching. Another gust pelts me with grit and the first moist intimations of the incoming rain. The copper rolls up her window partway, nodding us on: All right, but I think you'd better get home soon, looks like it's gonna pour.
Woof, Jason says.
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