Park Avenue Stupor

The man sat with a wine glass in his left hand and a dog leash in his right. He wore a sophisticated charm that could have been home at any extravagantly overpriced boutique. From his cafe chair he would use one of the oldest tricks in the book to gain the attention of the young beauties that wandered down the avenue. Waiting for the opportune collision between overly friendly animal and stunning woman, he would let the leash go slack.

Bending down the typically floral clad lass would have her hands occupied with his squirming black and white spotted dog at her feet, while non-covertly shooting a glance at who could be so careless as to let their dog be so emancipated. The ravenous man would meet their gaze in measure, though his desires were hidden beneath layers of cologne, practiced smiles and the exotic fragrances of bustling cafes and stores surrounding them.

Cyclically the woman would giggle, “what a gentle giant,” as the Dalmatian’s tongue danced around her hand. Thumbing the painfully empty spot on his finger where his wedding band used to be, the man would smile back, “He is. He doesn’t even go after my ex-wife.” This would quickly be followed by an awkward laugh from all involved although the man never understood why they laughed. The gorgeous woman would take her leave, forcing him to watch as she walked away once more.

He felt fortunate that restaurant always kept his glass half full. Otherwise, the man wasn’t sure how much more of this vicious cycle he could take. Life on the avenue pandered on, leaving him sitting with a wine glass in his left hand and a dog leash in his right.


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