THE DAY I SAW THAT MAN'S DOG DIE

     Or the day I saw that man's dog die. It was a warm summer day and I was walking up 3rd avenue on my way to Rodeo Bar to eat a burger and get drunk. I saw the doorman open the door and I watched them come out of the building, the man in a tank top and shorts with his enormous Rottweiler prancing beside him. It was quite a specimen, young and muscly with a shiny black coat. And then all of a sudden, the thing just collapsed and slid down the steps in front of him with its tongue hanging out. I don't know, I guess its heart just gave out. Watching this, I bumped right into an old man who said: "Hey, watch it, buddy!"
     "I'm sorry," I said.  
     When I looked back, the man was sitting right where he had stood, crying while still holding the leash. A few people had gathered and the doorman was now down with the dog, cradling its massive head.
     It was a strange thing to have seen. I continued on, thinking about it. Every now and then I still think about it. I probably always will.