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Without a Home

Your basket:
Main Ingredients:
former employee
Pool boy

Spice Pack:
1/8 pinch of euphoria
1 dollop of isolation

Sirens wail, hidden in the shadows strays dogs do as I. Roaming the streets at night looking for food and shelter away from this bigotry life, connected by my only source of happiness, a dumpster. Every night at midnight, like clockwork, an angel appears from a magical place from the side of the store front. Too afraid to approach the angel I lie in wait.

“clunk clunk”

Tonight is going to be a feast as it is rarity for there to be two. Before I sprint to my merry place twitching with excitement and fear, I check left and right. The path way is clear. I quickly jump into my jubilation, my claws tearing through the black plastic feeling for any kind of warmth.

I found gold! An untouched, uneaten piece of corn and herring. Blinded by spectacular yellow buttery goodness I bite into the corn. Each pellet bursting into my mouth producing succulent juicy rivers of gold. I exhale, and warm clouds escape and with each bite my eyes roll back with pleasure. I look at my last piece of happiness for the day, attempting to savor every last chink before I return to physical existence.


My world returns to darkness while four black walls gradually enclose on me while my merry place loses vibrancy. I curl up, fetal position as a cold raindrop glides slowly down my face. One becomes two, and two become a storm. This is what I’ve become. I am a former employee, a formal angel of this magnificent place. My love of water, once a pool boy diminished by my lover a former black widow, or so I thought.
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