I pull our rented scooter off a road choked with slow moving cars and motorbikes. 

The odd Kamikaze swerves through on a Vespa as if he doesn’t want to see next week. I park beside an adjacent muddy path near a large pile of garbage–tin cans, plastic bottles, wood and broken glass.

“Is that dog dead?” I ask my wife. 

She climbs off the bike and looks to her left.  “Don’t go near it,” she warns.

I once threatened to lift the tail end of a wild jungle python.  Now she thinks I’ll touch almost anything, dead or alive.

I step a few feet forward.  The dog is dead.

Image by Pixabay

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