H.P. Podcraft.com.

One small valuable thing by

by Chad Fyfer. Part 1. The first time the old man looked at me, he was taking a piss in the snow.

I'd stepped out of the house for smoke.

It must have been 10 or 11 degrees out there.

The world was frozen over. Nobody was out. I was drunk.

It was probably 7 in the morning.

The old man appeared on the corner down the street walking his dog, I don't know,

maybe six or seven houses away.

Bald guy, tall, black suit.

The dog looked just like it. Skinny, bony, all in black, some kind of dober men, I guess.

I watched him cross from one corner to the next, slow but deliberate.

The dog didn't seem to mind the pace. They stopped and the dog sniffed around the bottom of a street sign while the man stared down at him. It looked peaceful. These two thin figures against the dead silent snow, like some kind of charcoal drawing.

Then the dog lifted his leg and did his business.

There you go, I thought. Sweet relief in the morning, better than anything.

As if he'd read my mind, the old man turned away from the dog,

unzipped his pants and started pissing in the snow himself, right out in the open,

still holding the leash in one hand.

I couldn't believe it.

He and the dog were facing away from each other like they were trying to be polite,

this leash dangling in a smile between them.

The scene had gone from serene to ridiculous and I'd kind of chuckle as I put out my smoke.

...