I’m typing this with shaky fingers, still unsteady from adrenaline that should be forty minutes dulled by now. I think my old favorite park in Madison—I used to walk there during my final year of college to catch sunrises over the water—is cursed.
Not like, superstitious cursed. I don’t believe in that. People cursed.
Yesterday I watched a young woman lose her cat (that is not a euphemism, I mean she actually could not find him) because he was unleashed and wandered off while she was distracted.
This morning Scout and I faced the most severe harassment we’ve experienced from a fellow dog owner out in public (I wish I was hyperbolizing).
I am a few things: Distraught my nostalgic spot, home of many golden mornings, is now twice marred in as many days; confused, befuddled, downright flabbergasted at the behavior of other humans; and in desperate need of some processing through words.
