I can still scent him on me. It’s thick and heavy, like I’m swimming in a hazelnut latte. I should wash it off, but I don’t. Instead I let Hank inside and sit by the fridge with a bag of shredded Monterey jack cheese, cookie dough, and a can of Pringles. I rotate between the three and hope that maybe salmonella will take me out before I have to actually process my feelings.
