Is Dog?

by Thomas E. Kennedy

Sklar jolts off his sweaty sofa in the ungodly dark to get the phone, thinking, Pop's gone. But his father's phlegmy voice, without greeting or apology for the hour, wheezes in his ear, "I'm alone here! I need things. I'm out of vodka!"

Sklar needs things, too. He needs his sleep. He needs to find a job. He needs to pick up a gift for Nicoline's twenty-fifth birthday and to make this crappy little place presentable for when she comes over this evening. And he needs to talk to his father. Resolve some stuff.

So he showers—pointless in this New York August heat—slurps down some instant coffee and foots it north, plowing through the sweltering west side streets to Tenth and 38th, Sammy's Books and Music, which opens at 9:00.



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