He wakes with the sun over the dashboard. He checks the mirror: still sleeping. He decides not to pee.
He looks across the river. He’s never been.
No papers, no money, no reason to go. Just be looking at this spot from over there.
The dogwalker watches the tug churn upriver. The low morning sunlight flashes back east. A nova? He looks: just a car window on the other side.
He thinks about the last time he crossed — mostly for the duty free:
The dog pants and pulls against the leash.
Out of gin.
— Time to go, Coco.