Exquisite Corpse Part Two

Running, running. The city streets are empty at this hour. Just as well, I can't trust anyone. I know that I am being hunted. I know that I am merely a pawn in a larger game. There is so much that I do not understand. I understood Bill. Bill was wonderfully fat, and he smelled of garlic and sweat. I miss those
smells. Bill was my leader. I would do anything for him. He was kind to me. He always ate meatball sandwiches for dinner and sometimes he would toss me meatballs.



Thinking of meatballs, I feel hunger. This city looks sad and empty, like a dog dish after the last crumb has been devoured. wait! A sweet smell. The smell
of meat, aged to slimy perfection comes on to me like a Pekingese dame in her first heat. I dive into a garbage can and come up with a chicken carcass that
it just reaching perfection. I feast, and think of better days.

Back on the run. I'll have to find a place to spend whats left of the night. A fire hydrant! I sniff for calling cards. Quite a lot to sort through. I
recognize the scent of a pit bull named Lefty. Don't know him well but we had a few run ins in the past. From the wrong side of the tracks, but seemed like
an OK guy. The kind of guy who knows everything that's going down. I lift my leg to throw my card in with the rest (I'm trying to maintain a low profile but
old habits die hard), and then sprint down the street following his scent.

I lose it after a couple blocks. I am tired, the nose needs a rest. I slip down a back alley and find an old shoe waiting for me, like manna from Heaven. Sometimes the gods are kind. So much easier to think while chewing. I know it's a bad habit but this is not the week to give it up. I think back to Bill.

Then there was Bill's friend, the one he called Shannon, the one who smelled of whiskey and petroleum jelly. So much that I do not understand; sometimes this
dark world just seems to run on like a pack without an alpha. I drift off to sleep, but my dreams are troubled. It all happened so fast. It was not my fault. I am not a Bad Dog. I was just following instincts. You can't blame a guy for that. I know whose fault it was. It was the one they called Maurice. Never trust a man who smells like a Siamese.