“It was 7 minutes after midnight. The dog was lying on the grass in the middle of the lawn in front of Mrs. Shears’ house. Its eyes were closed.” - Mark Haddon
It’s 7 minutes after midnight. The dog is lying on the grass in the middle of the lawn in front of Mrs. Shears’ house. Its eyes are closed. “Thank God”, I say to myself. I feel relief. I hated dogs. Always have, always will. They’re annoying, they smell, they shed, and they shit and piss all over the place. It’s ridiculous. They make messes out of everything. Why would you take care of a dog? It’s like taking care of a baby who will never mature. I remember when I was younger, I was doing landscaping work for my neighbor and their dog kept jumping up on me trying to hump me. I would push it down but it wouldn’t stop. So I punched the dog in the face a few times, and finally it left me alone. I hate dogs. They're nuisances to our society. See right now the clock’s ticking. My Casio watch is strapped to the steering wheel slowly ticking away. Although I’m outside of the car I can still hear it going. I lower my silenced glock 17 and shove it back into my chest strap beneath my black satin jacket. I shake my head at the dead dog and pull out my pack of cigarettes and my lighter. I use my teeth to pull out one of the cigarettes and put the pack back in my inside jacket pocket. I ignite the cig and smoke the stress away. I look at this dog a good while. This dog wouldn’t stop barking. This dog could have sent me to prison. If I went to prison because of some dog I would...gah, I don’t know what I would do. I hate dogs. I squint my eyes to keep smoke out and watch the Christmas decorated house for a minute. I watch all the colored lights. When I was a kid I use to always bike around my block at Christmas time to see all the beautiful lights at night. New Jersey people had some of the best lights. I watch this automated robot snowman shake back and forth near their porch. It’s all smiley and happy. It drives me absolutely fucking crazy. I hate this Christmas spirit bullshit. People put on a mask with a grin ear to ear while they want to kill each other on the inside. At least I’m honest about it. I mean, I don’t go yelling around that I’m a get away driver, but that’s survival. If I have a problem with you, then you know about it. Clock’s ticking. I hear voices and yelling inside the house. We cut their phone line so I ain’t worried bout it. I throw the rest of my cigarette in the street gutter and get back in the car. Watch stops ticking. Tony and Rosco run out of the house with tennis bags filled with stuff. The Shears’ screen door slaps against its frame as they exit. They slam the doors behind them and I gas the pedal. Tony’s having a mental breakdown and Rosco’s laughing his ass off. We out.
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