DOGMAN, JOSE, AND THE ZOMBIES

the zombies flocked to this house – google map screenshot from 2012

EVERYONE CALLS MIKE “DOGMAN.”
THE STRAY DOGS FLOCK TO HIM.
WHEN HE GETS UP FROM HIS PLACE, THE DOGS FOLLOW HIM.
I SEE HIM ACROSS GAGE AVENUE.
A WHILE BACK, HIS TOE GOT INFECTED.
HE NOW WALKS LIKE HE’S STEPPING ON THIN ICE.
DOGMAN IS TALL AND SKINNY.
HIS PANTS ARE TOO SHORT FOR HIS LEGS.
HE LOOKS SO DETERMINED AS HE WALKS—EVERY STEP IS TAKEN WITH PURPOSE.
HE REACHES THE CRACK HOUSE…
HIS EXPRESSION DOES NOT CHANGE WHEN HE SEES JOSE IS NOT HOME.
DOGMAN WALKS AWAY TO THE CRACK HOUSE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STREET.

JOSE MUST MAKE A LOT OF FUCKING SPARE CHANGE.
HE LIVES ACROSS THE STREET FROM ME WITH HIS WIFE, DAUGHTER, AND TWO SONS.
A RUSTED CHAIN-LINK FENCE GUARDS THE ENTRANCE TO HIS HOME.
THE ENTRANCE TO HIS HOME IS SECURED BEHIND A BLACK STEEL-MESHED DOOR WITH A SLOT NEAR THE DOOR HANDLE.

ALL THE ZOMBIES WALK TO HIS FRONT DOOR.
EVERY.
SINGLE.
DAY.

I SEE MYSELF CROSSING THE STREET, AS IF FROM ABOVE.
MY HEART POUNDS.

ALL THE ZOMBIES WALK TO HIS FRONT DOOR.

stories from my time in south central – 1996