It is 41 degrees outside (“feels like 34”) and raining, so of course the dog wakes me up:

Harley: “Time to go poopy!”
Me (looking outside): “Bitch please. Go back to sleep.”
Harley: “Poopy! Can’t wait. Noooow please.”
Me: “Fine, fine…5 more minutes…”
Harley: “The pudding can’t wait!”

He then jumps off my bed and scampers off.

I’m putting my jeans on to take the dog out when a hear a toot from the living room.

Harley is trotting out of his kennel by the time I get there. There’s a big-steamy-pile of surprise in the kennel. Harley is wagging his tail until I started with the hysterics:

Me: “GOD DAMMIT! THIS IS UNFAIR! I WAS GETTING READY!”
Harley: “Unfair? Equity isn’t for those who sleep on their rights beyotch! Poopy couldn’t wait.”

I cleaned up the bullshit surprise and then put Harley’s leash on. He gives me a look like, “What’s that for? I’ve already relieved myself.”

Me: “I am not going to be the only one going outside in this plague weather!”
Harley: “But it’s coooold and wet!”
Me: “MY POINT EXACTLY!”

Five minutes later we are on the corner of the block and I’m trying to explain to Harley how he cannot both wake me up at an ungodly hour AND sass me for the crappy weather. My glares/mental rant are interrupted when I see Meth Molly on the corner of the street.

I haven’t seen Meth Molly since this summer. But tonight she was working the street – without an umbrella – standing on the corner looking wet and miserable.

Prostitutes on my block were rampant this summer, but most of them had enough sense to take their trade inside once the weather started to turn. But not Meth Molly! Rain or shine, Meth Molly is always in business like the mail.

I give her a look like “it’s time to invest in an umbrella or reconsider your career choices.”

She glares.
The dog snorts at her and we walk off.

Other Meth Molly posts:

• The Walk
• Welcome to the neighborhood
• What kind of fuckery is this?