Dollar Bill Got Bit

Something Was Loose in the Alley

He saw Rusty earlier—

closer than usual—

saying only:

he got bit.

—

Later, the same alley—

the same quiet—

held.

And something above—

or beyond—

seemed to watch.

Then her voice broke it—

“Dollar Bill got bit.”

For Rusty.

Always for Rusty.

He could not see them—

only the voice,

and him somewhere near.

And the cat—

carried, perhaps,

or dragged—

he could not tell—

but whatever had taken it

had not been gentle.

—

Then—

the sound:

low,

heavy,

wrong.

Metal struck.

Something shifted.

A dog—

now certain.

—

He felt it then—

not in sight,

but in thought—

what teeth like that

might have done

to something small

and held.

—

“Is he okay?”

The words rose—

or didn’t—

and hung there.

No answer.

Only a pause

that tightened the space

and did not release it.

—

He stood a moment—

afraid to see more—

afraid not to.

Then turned.

Went back inside.

Morning would come.

The alley—

would remain.