Berlin- at night- with a dog.

I run, pulling the reluctant dog behind me. Sprinting and laughing up cold streets, feeling the blood pump in my legs and then get caught somewhere in my guts, in a knot inside my ribcage. My legs are strong from pushing my ridiculous antique bike fast up hills, but my lungs are weak from cigarettes and a life of drifting. Still- now, on this night, half-drunk and delighted- I run, push against the knot, pull the dog along behind me. He is a greyhound, built for speed but deeply averse to it, is confused by the puppyish urge in me to push out into the night. He wants to curl up on familiar pillows in familiar warmth. He feels betrayed, he thought I was just taking him out to empty his bladder- which he has promptly done, copiously, against the potted plants outside the bakery down the street- doesn't know what to do about my boots pounding faster and faster against the pavement, my voice whispering and calling and urging him on. But he follows, not quite fast enough, trailing and anxious, and I run and laugh ahead, daring him and myself with each new block and each new corner and the one ahead, faster and faster at first and then, feeling the knot in my side, the burn in my lungs, the reluctant body at the end of the leash, I drop into a canter that he can nearly keep up with. We run until we've run out of street and have come to the canal, come to cold and dark, unlit, where the swans float somewhere unseen and the ducks roost against the concrete banks, where a mist rises because the air has cooled faster than a broken promise and the water, warm still, sighs into it. My feet hit a different surface, sinking into dirt and mud rather than uneven stone, and I relent at that. Stand for a moment, let him sniff and piss and push his confused nose into my hand, then turn and run with him all the way back home. I remember with the clacking of his long toenails on the stairs back up to our apartment that I'd meant to call my lover tonight, meant to offer some time, but I am my own internal galaxy just now- blood and breath and wild, scattered thoughts- I call instead to say, don't come. The dog hauls himself onto his couch, adoring reproachful eyes and hesitant tail-twitches, and I kick my shoes off and call the night my own.