Sometimes humans and dogs sound pretty similar. Or at least Dave and that cocky German Shepherd that’s always around scarfing my food down. They act similar too. Clumsy. Dumb but thinks they’re clever. Way too energetic. And Sister Callie says they actually get hurt bad when they fall off things. How pathetic is that? Most of us, we have fluffy fur and pretty faces but we can’t truly be trusted. I mean we know exactly how to make humans adore us with one simple meow. And we know how to act terrified around dogs only to transform into a devilish monster once they’re close enough to scrape their noses. But we just don’t want to get too attached to anyone. Dogs do it all the time and sometimes it bites them in the ass hard. That’s why at night when everyone’s asleep we’ll go sleep on Dave’s fat beer belly or under Rocky’s chin. God I love his thick fur and his big dog snore. He can never find out.

Dust has always intrigued me. Accumulating like history that refuses to be ignored. There’s a glass milk bottle, a bible, and an old torn up bike tire in the corner of the room. The old wood floor whines when make my way over, begging to be beaten down further. Dust covers the floor and the old items in the corner. The milk bottle has survived in peace without being put on sale at some vintage shop being constantly eyed by young recently engaged women. It has embraced its history, waiting for someone to find it and stop to reminisce on the good old days. The days when bibles weren’t abandoned in empty houses. The days when children rode their bike. I don’t know when last lived in this empty falling down house but it could’ve been anyone. It’s all of our stories and It’s all of the stories that have descended into the soil already.