Henry

Six thirty five.

An hour ago I hacked my beard completely off for a clean shaven look. Aesop barely recognized me afterwards. On my way to the market, there was more asphalt put down on the sidewalk; they must’ve done that yesterday. A man speed walking passed me on the street and said good morning. Lisa noticed my face and said she liked it. I wore the blue sweater that Colleen gave me when I stayed at Residence Inn three years ago. I was distressed yesterday, but I still don’t understand exactly why. Going to Bi Mart seemed to trigger my alcoholism all over again, though Grocery Outlet would’ve been even worse for me. Ten years ago I had more innocence and naivety than I have today, unless I was guilty for drinking the whole time. It raises the question of what is innocence and what is sophistication. I’d say that my pug dog Henry was an innocent lamb, loved by everybody. I can’t boast the same for myself. I wish I could! Some people duck the issue of ethics with gray values. I used to do this, too. But I think in the end it was just self defense. Henry made it to 14 years before he had to be euthanized. Besides his cataracts and hearing loss, he had a heart murmur. The staff of the veterinary hospital sent me a sympathy card, signed by everyone who worked there. They also made a plaster paw print to remember him by, but I remember him anyway. Henry was my innocence.

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