“Sunday licks face”
2024
Pastel on Paper
This is Sunday—a white boxer. I never cared for boxers, but Sunday melts anyone’s heart. Sunday’s humans were moving to the countryside. They got married. She's the blondest woman I have ever met. She met Sunday and the black man in this city of polyamory. They got married and had two kids because neither wanted casual sex.
We would dog-sit Sunday before the lockdowns. When I walked Sunday to see a friend, he’d ask in fright, “Why do you have a combat dog?”
Sunday is a gentle soul who loves balls. Balls of every size. But because of the lockjaw myth and living in the city, balls were contraband. Forbidden. That just made them all the more tantalizing.
A blonde woman, married to a black man and a combat dog with a “lockjaw.”
I walked Sunday on a Friday afternoon with two Romanians. Sunday caught sight of a ball at the park. Too late, he launched straight at the football of a seven-year-old kid. His teeth sunk in. The ball deflated. Three of us men could not tear the ball away from Sunday’s bite. Only when Sunday attempted to adjust his hold did we get the ball out and return it to the kid.
The boy’s mother, a Muslim woman wearing a Shayla, couldn’t contain her laughter. I offered her money to compensate for the kid’s football, but she waved her hand in decline. She stroked her son’s hair as they walked away, only to look back at us with a smile. With the two Romanians, we headed to dinner with Sunday.
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