The scrape wasn’t deep or particularly noticeable.
Dennis Naughton rubbed the mark with his thumb.
If he hadn’t seen the kid hit his truck with the bike, it might have taken him weeks to notice.
He looked at the curb. He would have wanted to jump it with his bike when he was that age.
Glad he held back from really going off on the kid. Just a truck. Eight months new, still a puppy, but...shit happens.
Dennis bent and picked a candy wrapper from the grass.
When he looked up, a man was walking toward him. Not just coincidentally toward him, but staring, as though Dennis was between the man and…something.
Dennis looked behind himself.
When he did, the man said “I’d like a word, neighbor.”
Dennis turned back.
“Ok.”
It was the kid’s dad. Had to be. There was a resemblance.
Dennis decided he should walk back to the truck.
“You called my son an evil name.”
Dennis went cold.
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