The dogs were not barking, they were howling. Their howls pierced the night air not like a bat piercing the side of a piñata to unleash a candy cornucopia, but like a needle-pierced water balloon with so many holes you can’t stop it from spilling.

I stepped outside of my apartment and into the night’s black with a little less than $20 and no real plan. I usually didn’t mind the neighbor’s dogs, but they usually didn’t howl. Or perhaps they did how but it just wasn’t as shrill and chilling of a howl as it was tonight. Maybe I just couldn’t bare to sit alone on my couch with the thought of what I’d done. Or rather what I wanted to do, but didn’t do, and then what happened because of it, or because not it.

I had the intention of going into a random bar and sitting there alone at the bar, sing us a song you’re the piano man vibes. But as I walked past a Chinese restaurant- not one of the trendy ones with graphic designed menus with bold fonts and cute drawings, but one old and run down one which I’d never bothered to even look into- a plate of streamed dumplings suddenly seemed like a necessity. Not a craving, a need.

I walked in and no one noticed me. I sat myself down at a table which, luckily, had a menu on it so I didn’t have to ask anyone for one. $6.99 for a plate of chicken and shrimp dumplings, $4.99 for a vegetable only. I ordered the chicken and shrimp ones and opted for tap water, no, excuse me, a beer? Yes please just one.

(Use imagery and descriptions of what things are NOT, not so much what they are) hauling is play on howling but hauling his guilt for what he didnt do