The customer grips a foaming bud draft.

The guy on the other side of the bar, what's his name, he asks me.

Turning and swiping the bar rag across polished wood, I glance toward the end. I know who he is asking me about.

You want his name?

I see him on the train sometimes, bud draft tells me.

Well, I can introduce you.

But, then I might see him more, and I would have to say hi or whatever, he tells me.

Yup. You might see him, I agree.

Well…

He looks at his friends. He looks at me.

You know, if you do nothing, nothing will happen, I say.

What does this have to do with Lily? Nothing. I just happen to be thinking about her before and after I was interrupted by one bud draft's awkward unwillingness to be social either right then, or ever again on the train.

Today was a really tough day. Some hours were good, but mostly I was stuck in my head with thoughts that made me so frustrated and upset that I sat in the woods with the dogs and said, guys, I got a problem. Then I sat there and cried while Lily and Hershey panted, paws on either side of a tennis ball. Bandit was affectionate and sat next to me with his head turned back to look at me. The pose makes his tongue flop to the side and his eyes widen, then he leans against me for comfort.

Thank you doggies.