Underground Parking Lot Security Cam
The assistants scurry from coffee pot to metal table, scraping their jaws with rusty metal hangers, tipping over lightweight plastic shopping carts. Manicured pets, stretched and stitched, are gnawing in their sleep. The scalpel thinks, I will never be thirsty again.
A half-moon eye, the German shepherd under the chair thinks. That is an eye that is fixed and staring, the upper lid half-closed. The shepherd likes the sound of glass breaking, and the way that shards prick his rough feet.
In the ex-Barista’s basket, a calico is piecing together a quilt of smells; she moves her front paws up and down, imitating sewing gestures.
The owners are clustered in a corner, weeping. They are trying to dig a hole under a Toyota, they are trying not to remember what happened upstairs.
The shepherd’s left foot is asleep and dreaming of a room without a floor. Because the dream reminds it of a red carpet it once touched, the foot twitches.