everything on it

by nick nelson

night was falling. a dog ran down the street. a woman chased after it with a leash. a man standing at a window watched the woman chasing the dog. with a sigh, the man turned from the window and went and sat down at a desk on which a pile of mail awaited him. the man wished that he were a dog. or a woman chasing a dog down the street with a leash. the man picked up the piece of mail on top of the pile. the mail had not been arranged in any order, but had been placed on the desk by himself after being taken out of the mailbox attached to the front of the house, which was painted white with blue trim. the man had lived in the house all his life, except during the periods when he had been away at school or serving in the military and in the diplomatic service. most of the serious correspondence the man received were via electronic mail or text messages, or were received at one of his offices, and delivered to him by courier if he were not at the office when they were delivered. but he was always careful to go through the miscellaneous mail addressed to his house, in case there was something concerning an unfortunate incident he had been involved in at military school several decades earlier. but most of the mail on this particular evening consisted of flyers for fast food restaurants and other humble commercial establishments in the area. he perused a flyer from frank’s pizza and grinders, whose address showed it to be located only about a mile away from the house. although the man had been brought up to appreciate fine things, including fine cuisine, he had long harbored a secret lust for the cheapest sort of fast food. on impulse - for he was very much a creature of impulse - he picked up the old phone on the desk and dialed frank’s and ordered a roast beef grinder with everything on it, and onion rings. you sure you want everything on it? the young female on the line asked him. quite sure, thank you. will that be pickup or delivery? delivery, please. he gave the young woman the house’s address. it should be there in fifteen, twenty minutes. thank you. the man made himself a pot of coffee with a complicated coffee maker he had been given as a christmas present a few years earlier and whose operation he had finally mastered. he tipped the delivery person generously when he arrived in the promised fifteen minutes. he quickly devoured the roast beef grinder and onion rings and washed them down with the coffee. he felt better. much better. but he still would have preferred to be a dog. or a woman chasing a dog down the street with a leash.