nooodles

The dog wandered across the street. It was lost, or at least losing itself, and innocently, in the heat of the sweltering afternoon. A man came up to it, tried to pet it, but the dog ignored him, almost politely, kept going, down the alley, toward the back of the thrift shop, stopping, but only for a moment, before moving on, toward the main street. Traffic was busy, there, hectic; it was Friday afternoon. The dog paused for a moment, then attempted to cross. Two cars stopped. Then another. And another. The fifth didn’t. It was an old model Toyota, driven by a 83-year-old woman, Mazie Wolcott. She never knew what she’d hit and, in fact, kept going, oblivious. Four blocks over, a nine-year-old girl borrowed her mother’s cell phone and sent out a text message to family and friends about her dog being missing. Nooodles – three o’s – was its name. It had never gone off, before. She hoped someone would find him. Her name was Alicia.