It is a hot day.
I leave my dog in the car.
The group is going to a trick, massively two-story house.
The last time, the trapdoor was over a giant bed.
People would fall down and laugh about it.
This time the trapdoor is over a hall with a wooden floor.
It is high enough that people would break their legs.
Nobody seems to mind this.
They are relaxed, cheerful, eager for their turn.
I’m not worried about the pain, but the logistics.
All those people with broken limbs would pile up in the drop zone.
I suggest we find a different trapdoor,
one over a bed or something soft.
They are amenable to the shift.
They don’t care much either way.
As long as they don’t have to wait too long.
I suddenly remember my dog.
I feel a stab of guilt for leaving him.
But it’s only been a couple hours.
He probably slept, despite the heat.
He trusts me.