The dog keeps farting these really bad stinkers. I think it’s the Trader Treats we’ve been feeding him. They are long chewy meat sticks. They don’t have any corn in them, but he has a really sensitive stomach.
I took him out earlier, and I think that he needed to poop, but I didn’t take him far enough down the street for him to feel comfortable enough to do it. I had forgotten to bring my keys with me, so I had to leave the protective metal door open so that I wouldn’t get locked out. I knew that if I called Musette to let me in she would be so mad – me up playing video games all night when she is trying to sleep, and then this. So rude! That’s her way of describing me when I’m up at night like this, doing the things I do. We only have one room. I try to work in the kitchen, as you know, but I can’t play the Playstation in there.
It’s 3 o’clock, I figure if anybody asks me why I’m out walking my dog at this hour I’ll just tell them that I just got home from the bar.
A man stops me, on Myrtle. He asks for money. I’ve seen him before. He’s a bald black man. Last time he asked, he told me that his friend had just been arrested and he needed money to get home. This time he didn’t have a story.
I told him that I didn’t have any money, even though I had my wallet that was full of cash.
I wish to never see this guy again or anybody like him. I want to get out of New York to somewhere safe: Utah. But let’s be serious, there is no safe place.