Maximus
By Michael Domino
© 2007 by Michael Domino

   His body is middle-aged: hefty, [but] not fat - like he used to be muscular. I overhear
him speak as he paces tensely back and forth. “I’m on 3rd and 31st, in front of a Bagel
Store, and we’re being discriminated against.  The sign on the door says “DOGS NOT
ALLOWED!”
     He has a big dog firmly on a leash and a cell phone pressed tightly to his ear. A
yellow baseball cap is squeezed over his close-cropped athletic haircut and he has a
blue-grey Notre Dame sweatshirt covering his upper body.  He’s got loose fitting












T

the tall paper cup sends comforting heat up my right arm. He’s anxious, fidgety, and
seems hungry.
In short, he wants into this bagel store in the worst way. The dog sign
(or “No dogs” sign) is really agitating him.
    Here I am, and there he is -  and there he goes again, with the mouth, but this time
he’s talking to me. “That’s discrimination, not letting me in there with Maximus!"
    “There are dogs in there,” I explain, “but they’re all small dogs. Your dog is not a
small dog.”  
    He says “I know, so what the Hell is that supposed to mean?”
    I can tell he’s not from Manhattan; he’s nervous and loud and uncomfortable
looking on the street. I guess Jersey, Westchester, Long Island, or maybe even
Queens. He doesn’t realize about the little-dogs rule in this big city: they’re not really
considered dogs here - more like mini-people or live jewelry. If they fit under your arm,
they qualify to go where you go. Maximus would hardly fit under King-Kong’s arm.
jeans on the bottom with white
sneakers.
    The drizzle is cold, but not
freezing, and the sky is grey. It’s chilly
for mid-May.
   “I found a store that has narrow
shoes for you. Where are you,
honey?,”
   It’s not too cold for me to be
casually munching my late Saturday
morning bagel outside, under the
canopy of The Baglery. The very fresh
coffee goes down pleasantly; gripping
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