WATERMELON HAD BEEN LEFT OUT OVERNIGHT.
By morning, flies gathered around the red edges where someone had already taken a few bites. Every so often they scattered before settling again a moment later. Beside the watermelon sat a couple of soda cans, a digital solitaire game and a chair where Net spent most of the afternoon. At her feet lay Pocket, a white Labrador retriever that lifted her head whenever someone passed. The flies buzzed around the watermelon until, after a while, they became difficult to distinguish from the sound of cars whirring above.
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