Mark and I sat in a vacant lot laughing uncontrollably. An old church towered behind us.
It was late at night and we were trying to rein ourselves in from some mind-bending substance.
Everything was so funny, we couldn’t stop laughing.
We lived across the street.
We didn’t want to wake anyone up.
A puppy darted around the field, playfully dancing around us.
Mark called to the puppy.
The puppy happily bounced over to us.
Mark petted the puppy.
The puppy ran off to the street and immediately got run over by a speeding truck.
The truck came to a screeching halt.
Lights started popping on in the houses up and down the street.
I looked at Mark. He was looking at the hand that petted the pooch.
Neighbors started pouring out of their houses screaming at the driver.
Mark and I moved back into the shadows of the church.
He kept looking at his hand.
Eventually we were able to cross the street and go home.
We both worked in the morning so I didn’t see him till the next evening.
I met him at the pub.
I could tell he was still freaked out.
He looked at his hand like he had inherited the black hand of death.
We sat in silence even though the pub was buzzing with activity.
I wanted to tell him stuff just happens man.
I looked Mark in the eye.
The only thing I could say was…