While I was smoking my last cigarette, puffing away in the silver light, I noticed a little dog a few houses down sniffing at some bushes. It was scrappy little bastard with the scars to prove it. It was snuffling and scraping at the dirt with its dirty white paw. In the distance I heard a train whistle and glanced fruitlessly through the houses towards the tracks. I glanced back just in time to see the king of Gilpin Street huffing away with his hard won prize. He must weigh all of about 9 lbs with 4 of it being his dangly bits.
It’s a creepy old house. Nobody lives there and the owner comes by only when he is forced to tend to something.
After I put out the butt and left it smoldering in it’s own ashes I decided that, that just won’t do. I thought I’d better hike on down to the 7-11 and get myself a pack. The walk is really short but sometimes I like to take the long way. That is, it’s still the very same amount of steps, I just walk them slowly. I might as well enjoy the walk, you know. At each house I stop to imagine what it’s like on the inside and who lives there. It changes with every walk. That’s what makes it so interesting.
Loved this post. I guess you should get drunk more often!
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