Edgar was being kissed.
His eyes were closed but he could feel her warm breath on his face and the moisture of her lips on his own and on his forehead and his cheek and on the tip of his nose.
The bed was soft and the heavy rhythm her breath drowned out every other sound.
Life was good.
Then he opened his eyes.
Life was no longer good.
His head felt like a pressure cooker.
Edgar was not being kissed. He was being licked and nudged by the damp nose of his only friend, Sadie. Sadie was a mutt that was missing one eye and half an ear.
Edgar's soft bed was actually the sand on the shore of the Pithlachascotee river.
With his eyes open Edgar saw water in the sky. But that was only because he was lying on his back under the Main Street Bridge.
He was trying to remember how he got here, but that's not because this was an unfamiliar place. This was actually Edgar and Sadie's home for the last few months, but the last thing he remembers from the night before was sitting on the bus stop bench in front of the Sticky Lifters Bar-B-Que.
Presently the droning rhythm of cars going over the bridge drowns out all his thoughts as he rolls over, sits up, gives Sadie a sturdy pat on the head, and reaches for his bottle of Wild Irish Rose.