There’s a bedraggled but waggly queue outside the vet’s.
A woman in white inhales deeply and opens the glass door.
Only the dogs move.
When Death came to the queue for the new new phone, he was kind and gentle, and explained,one by one, that they wouldn’t be needing a phone any more, that they could leave the old one there, on the pavement, for someone else to take. They wouldn’t need apps or maps any more, no need to connect or wait for connection any more. Now they would be comfortable alone, still dreaming of together. Until the dreaming stopped. So kind, so gentle.