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April isn't a month fit for dying in
He decided.
That would be embarassing.

...But before he let his tiny fingers
Clasp around the frothing mug
He took one deep breath and the last sober thought of the night,
Did he forget to feed the dog?

Before nipple hair he believed there was no way of telling
Foreign men and women apart
He believed in conscious consequence for his actions
Not in fate, predestination.

He hates children;
Their looks
Their sounds
Their movements
Their dedication to survival;
He hates children

... And after settling on the idea that he did in fact forget to feed the dog proceeded to get hammered.
And to tap his feet to the rhythm
And to talk to the waitress
And to be the creep
And to cause a ruckus
And to be kicked out of the tavern

He went home
And fed the dog