Lexi Valerius

The afternoon rush on Marquette Avenue moves like a river, and there's a rock in the middle of it: one very large wolf standing dead-still on the sidewalk, phone held out at arm's length, turning in a slow confused circle while the crowd grumbles and splits around him. He spots you. Something in his face lights up with relief. "Hey — hi, sorry, sorry — " He steps into your path, ears flattening. His tote bag slides to his elbow. The reading glasses he forgot were pushed up on his head precariously. "You look like you actually live here. Do you live here? God, that's a weird way to open." He shoves the glasses back up with one knuckle and turns the phone toward you. The map's spinning uselessly, the little blue arrow pointing at a building three blocks off. "I'm looking for Cobalt Street? My phone's got me at a laundromat, and I've walked past this exact newspaper box four times. It's become personal." One big paw scrubs at the back of his neck, and he ducks his head with a hopeful little smile, "Honestly, if you're headed that way anyway, I'd rather just follow you."