The Dragon
Owning a dragon, like playing music too loud or being from New Jersey is generally frowned upon in New York City. It's surprising how often it still happens. I was sitting on my fire escape window sill last night, writing on my phone. My neighborhood is quiet for the most part, save a low rumble of angry drivers and confused commuters who turned the wrong way, so when I heard a small yelp from the ground a few stories below, I got up and cautiously approached the rail of the fire escape. Looking into the warmly-lit windows around the dimly-lit backyards of the neighboring buildings, it was apparent that I was the only one who heard the noise. On the ground below me was my landlord's back patio. It's fitted with cracked plastic chairs, a dirty table and a folded, tattered umbrella among other various detritus. Usually slinking around the rubble are the neighborhood's stray cats. My landlord claims they make for good pest control and pays them in kind with table scraps and leftovers. In my experience, they're less than industrious creatures. The neighborhood pest patrol began to gather below my perch, all approaching a small object then shying away from it. It glowed a blueish-green and appeared to be cradled into a makeshift nest of black plastic bags and discarded underwear. The hum of the curious creatures grew louder and the yelps more frequent until, slowly, a thin wisp of smoke began to appear. Cats don't generally like to light fires, that's what people are for, so I peered closer to the glowing marble curiously. It started to tremble and crack and the children of the tenants below began to murmur (my apartment has good walls but terrible floors). The glowing orb cracked open and a small feathery head popped out. The cats approached it but seemed disappointed by the apparent heat the egg was emitting. The tiny dragon began to force its way out of the shell. The noises it was making lead me to believe that it was quite peeved with the cats' greeting. Dragon hatchlings must be accustomed to more elegant environments I thought. I didn't blame him. Suddenly I heard the sound of a screen door opening and say the stout figure of my landlord walk across the patio. He shooed away the cats, who by this point had grown fairly disinterested with the spectacle anyway, and scooped up the makeshift nest. He looked up and I ducked away. I was not supposed to be on the fire escape and he still hadn't won my safety deposit. I retired to the living room where I promptly bought some renter's insurance online to hopefully protect myself from any unforeseen fires or other dragon-related mishaps.