I have a new dog
named Charley.
I found him
wandering the streets, looking slightly disoriented and frail. I took
back to my basement apartment. For a week I have taken good care of
him. Sometimes Charley is a very bad dog, always trying to runaway,
making noise at night. I keep him in a cage as punishment and for his
own protection. I have to keep him a secret, my Landlady doesn't
allow pets.
The other day, the
woman next door knocked on my door.
“I'm looking for
my husband Charlie. He went out for cigarettes and is now missing.
Have you seen him?”
I told her I hadn't
seen him. I shut my door, looked at Charlie. He was
whimpering,cowering in the corner of the cage, his naked body broken
and bruised.
“She's not getting
you back,” I told him.
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