White haze. I walk blind, following the dog grinch. Not mine keeping him for a girl. Name is grinch. The street is across from the dead. Tombstones faint through the pale a tiny cemetery I’m walking among the hushed. Through an open window a family sits down to supper. Behind them a television flickers silent bleeding colors. The dog stops to piss. Not my dog. Keeping him for a girl. Traffic lights change red to green with no cars to stop or go. My boots scrape. The dog's collar jingles. Concentrate on the low subconscious hum from the streetlamp. Scan the haze a rambling figure approaches. A shapeshifter moving through morphine white. Familiar in the short warped stride. Coming closer it's a white male middle twenties. Squat and muscular. Loose torn cargo shorts. One leg longer than the other. Disintegrating gray tee with ripped pocket and shapeless brown hat.
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