On the way home from work on a Tuesday I realize that if I don’t want to I don’t have to turn right on Bleecker like I’ve been doing on my way home from work for the past three years and so I turn left instead and I try to think of something profound because this is a moment and I’m taking control of my life or something but the best I can think of is that this must be what it feels like for a dog who’s lived on a lawn with an invisible electric fence for three years and then one Tuesday after work his owner says whatever and turns the electric fence off and now he can just walk away. And then I remember all of my neighbors who used to have dogs that just hung out on their lawns their whole lives, and once in a while the kids would come out and play with them, and the rest of the time they were just lying there and when you’d walk by they’d give you this look like they’d be totally okay with it if you just dragged them to the edge of the lawn, to the perimeter of the invisible electric fence and pulled them a little bit more right into it and let it slowly shock them to death rather than leave them there to sit on the lawn and occasionally play with bored children until they die.
And now I’m lost and I think I’m in the West Village but I can’t tell, but it’s mostly warm out so I keep walking, and I see this girl wearing a yellow poncho and now I’m following her. She has nice legs and she looks like she reads used books for fun and would name her cat after a political figure except with some sort of cat pun, like David Catmeron or Meowmoud Abbas. I keep walking and then she turns around a yard in front of me and says are you following me? I say yes and then she grimaces before running in between cars and crossing the street and yells something but I can’t tell what she said. I will realize seven hours later after I’ve played it back enough times that she was saying fine, walk faster then.
But I don’t know that when I’m still on my way home from work and I think that maybe I slipped through the invisible electric fence at the corner of Bleecker and Sullivan and I’m just supposed to keep walking so now I’m alone and I do.
Profile: Zachery Morris