I live in a neighborhood full of bad dogs. No. Wait. Let me rephrase. I live in a neighborhood full of bad dog owners.
The kind of owners that wear dirty tighty-whities and saunter into their yard with a Pall Mall cig hanging from the corner of their metal filled mouth, two am o’ clock shadow, blasting Greek disco-tech dialed up to eleven every weekend. And who leave their dog chained up outside for the entire day. All day. Every day.
The dog isn’t actually chained up. But he is behind an ugly wrought iron gate with some chain link woven in, adding a flair of trashiness to the Beware Of Dog sign that hangs crookedly from it. He (the dog, named Rocky) still has his balls. But to be honest, I’ve never actually seen this man’s underwear and I don’t know if he smokes.
I may have actually seen the inside of the man’s mouth when he yelled at me- yelled at me for asking him to please bring his dog inside. His mouth looks like he smokes. I think the part with the metal fillings is true. It’s gen…
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