Xavier looked pretty when she cried. I wondered if she was crying because of the message scrawled in blood (my own) on her window or the pictures I took of her that I slipped underneath her door. A party in Boyle Heights, rooftop. Panoramic view of Downtown. Crowded. Flies everywhere. Overheard conversations. ‘Coyotes…in the city…eating pets. Dogs…’

‘They…ripped my dog apart…’, Xavier sobbed, drooling. Lips numb. Oh. I had forgotten about the dog. I lit a cigarette. Cute guy steals Xavier’s drink. He mumbles, ‘Just get another one.’ The winds pick up. Someone swears they hear an earthquake approaching.