I'm even a little disappointed that Berry is my only client today. Without any other distractions, my full-time job becomes missing Samuil, being ashamed of missing Samuil, and then hating Samuil for the aforementioned emotions. Then the spiral begins anew.
We turn onto a broad street lined with imposing brownstones, their wrought-iron fences standing like sentries. No grass here to "distract" Berry. Just concrete and metal and the ghost of Samuil's last kiss haunting my lips.
I think we're safe until Berry spots a pigeon perched on top of one of the fence posts. She takes the bird's existence as a personal insult and lunges with all of her strength.
"Berry, stop!" My command comes out sharper than intended, edged with all the frustration I can't unleash on the person who really deserve
