8 AM

Slice of life

He woke to the dog’s wet nose on his cheek. Six-fifty, ten minutes before the alarm.

“Morning, boy,” he muttered, scratching behind its ears. “Need to go out?” a tail wagged in reply.

Next month would mark a year of sleeping alone. The pug-yorkie mix he adopted was good company, but couldn’t fill the hollow on the other side of the mattress. Before she was gone, he slept facing outward. Now, every morning, his body betrayed him—waking turned toward the emptiness. If memories were ghosts, his bed was haunted.

Outside, the October air had begun to bite. The dog darted from tree to bush, peeing on both. A wisp of fog on the road tugged him into recollection—Halloween had been their season. Scary movies, Spirit Halloween trips, coffee on cool mornings—every beautiful memory sharpened into a blade.

His phone rang. Work. He exhaled.

“Come on, boy,” he said, heading back to the house. “Let’s get the day started.”