Queen of Cups

The dog was ten feet high. She didn’t notice it until she started washing up the breakfast things, and saw it stock-still in her garden. It looked like a Great Dane, grey with black blotches, unblinking, didn’t even look like it was breathing. She called the local police station, told them there was a giant dog in her garden, didn’t mention just how huge it was but told them it was big and she was scared.
Until then, she locked the doors, shut the windows, headed upstairs and watched through the bedroom window, coffee cold in her hand. She nibbled at an Oreo and the cops came ten minutes later. That was when the dog turned and ran, barking like gunshots.
She didn’t know then how lonely you could be. The phone rang and the office said there’d been an accident; she dropped the coffee and ran out to her car, drove all the way to the city hospital and they said he’d gone, sorry, he’s gone, and then all the forms and finances and so on.
That night she dreamt of being fucked by a giant dog. It was ejaculating in her tousled
hair when the towers fell.