Chapter 5 10 October 2016
The Bitch From Borlänge – Chapter 5
A bistro called, The Dog House, looks good for openers—an unpretentious sort of place, but clean. There’s a few bitches sharing opinions and dogwater at the bar—mixed breeds. A Rottweiler I recognize is sitting alone at a small table. Met him in Amsterdam last year, good looking dawg, but I ignore him, and he doesn’t notice me. I order snacks and sit down with the girls who sniff at me with curiosity.
“You new in town?” one asks while looking at my coat—appraisal.
“Yeah, just passing through. I’m looking for a kat. I think he’s somewhere inside Rosengaard.”
“Best you stay out of there,” a bleached blond poodle yips. “Bad dogs.”
I buy a round of bones and listen as the poodle yaps about a boutique where she gets her hair done—boring, but she gives me and idea. A die job might work. A dog in black, unkempt . . . a hippy hairdo.
“It’s divine,” she says—still running on. “It’s called, The Hair After. Totally cool styalists It’s worth a grooming just to get a look at Mauice —from Paris. Hes an older dog, but very hot. Distinguished.”
“And gay as springtime,” says a basset sitting next to her.
“It’s getting late,” I told them. “Got to see a man about a dog.”
Hours later I came out of The Hair After a new hound, black hair, no curls— so sad to get them straightened out. I’m wearing an un-hairdo, wet fur outside air-dried. Hope no one I know will see me, but it’s doubtful they would recognize me if they did. Maurice is sniffing at me.
“Zo, perhaps when you arefinish with zis new look, you come back? I make your beauty once again appear. You are a hot dog, as they say in the U.S.”
“Sounds good” I tell him. Love his accent. Is he young enough to learn a few new tricks? I’m thinking as I hit the sidewalk. And what next? I ask myself. I need a cover story, reason to be here.
The Bitch From Borlänge – Chapter 5
By Ellie of Cameron & Smoothy
Ellie
You can run, but you can’t hide.
I’m on the edge of the Rosengaard district. Going in might lead to trouble. A disguise might work, but what? Need time and space to think.A bistro called, The Dog House, looks good for openers—an unpretentious sort of place, but clean. There’s a few bitches sharing opinions and dogwater at the bar—mixed breeds. A Rottweiler I recognize is sitting alone at a small table. Met him in Amsterdam last year, good looking dawg, but I ignore him, and he doesn’t notice me. I order snacks and sit down with the girls who sniff at me with curiosity.
“You new in town?” one asks while looking at my coat—appraisal.
“Yeah, just passing through. I’m looking for a kat. I think he’s somewhere inside Rosengaard.”
“Best you stay out of there,” a bleached blond poodle yips. “Bad dogs.”
I buy a round of bones and listen as the poodle yaps about a boutique where she gets her hair done—boring, but she gives me and idea. A die job might work. A dog in black, unkempt . . . a hippy hairdo.
“It’s divine,” she says—still running on. “It’s called, The Hair After. Totally cool styalists It’s worth a grooming just to get a look at Mauice —from Paris. Hes an older dog, but very hot. Distinguished.”
“And gay as springtime,” says a basset sitting next to her.
“It’s getting late,” I told them. “Got to see a man about a dog.”
Hours later I came out of The Hair After a new hound, black hair, no curls— so sad to get them straightened out. I’m wearing an un-hairdo, wet fur outside air-dried. Hope no one I know will see me, but it’s doubtful they would recognize me if they did. Maurice is sniffing at me.
“Zo, perhaps when you arefinish with zis new look, you come back? I make your beauty once again appear. You are a hot dog, as they say in the U.S.”
“Sounds good” I tell him. Love his accent. Is he young enough to learn a few new tricks? I’m thinking as I hit the sidewalk. And what next? I ask myself. I need a cover story, reason to be here.
To be continued Weekly instalments
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