HARSH AND I worked together at the animal clinic downtown. He euthanized the dogs and I answered the phones. He’d tuck his chin under their ears and sing little ditties to make their passing easier. When he was a kid his father would send him to butcher the rabbits for supper. The monsoons would come and he’d walk ankle deep in water, rabbits slung over his shoulder, the blood falling heavy and steady from the fur. I’m just the ferryman, he’d tell us, rowing everyone back home. I brought him back to my car one night and we fucked on a pile of newspapers in the backseat I keep for recycling, soon after we were inseparable.
Breaking Point: His shotgun wedding with a woman who owned a Turkish Van.
