Vincent is sitting on the thin slate steps of my porch when I open the door. His
Converse are flat on the ground and his head is in his hands. I know fully well that if he were to
kick those shoes up, I’d see the Nirvana smiley face in Sharpie on the bottom. But not today.
Today, Vincent looks like the world has punched him in the face.
“Vinnie, who killed your dog?” He lifts his head up like he’s surprised to see me. I can see red
splotches over his eyes. His blonde hair is shoved under a beanie and he’s got earrings in.
I didn’t ask for an emo Vinnie today.
“If I were a dog, would I be a Cocker Spaniel or a unicorn?”
“Vinnie, we’ve been over this. Unicorns are not dogs.”
“Oh. Well, today the world killed my unicorn.”
“Christ. Is it that bad?” He pushes his glasses up his nose with his middle finger. I always
tell him not to do that, because it looks like he’s flipping everyone off, but Vinnie listens to no
one.