My friend had not been gone five minutes, the engine still cold beneath his knuckles, the ticking and whirring of pistons retreating into silence, when the gray weight of traffic gathered about him, and he was wedged among the morning's faceless exodus. The air was damp with the lightless residue of the dawn, a dull mist pooling on the windshield as his tires carved their endless, circular orbit through the geometry of streets, concrete spun in a perpetual and impersonal pattern. It was then that his phone buzzed, the tiny screen flickering in his hand with the dim, ghostly light of an alert.
He tapped it. There, framed in the little box of the camera’s eye, stood Ruffus, his dog, his companion through hours of solitary and companioned cheer alike, that grizzled and loyal animal who'd shared my friends nights and early dawns, who now, unaware of the tiny light blinking its watchful eye from the room’s corner, made his way toward the table. My friend felt the absurd pang of helplessness as he watched Ruffus pause before his precious visor, the hat placed reverently upon the table's surface like some relic of a past joy, a token in the shape of triumph, Titlleist name stitched in bold, assured letters, brimming with the weight of an afternoon's sweat and memory.
my friend watched in a kind of suspended horror as Ruffus sniffed, circled, and lifted his leg, releasing a slow, inevitable stream that darkened the soft material, marking it with a careless abandon as indifferent as the dawn rain spattering my friends windshield. And here he sat, fixed, tethered, wrapped in the lattice of traffic’s relentless grip, unable to speak or shout, bound by distance, as his memories seeped away through the damp fibers.
(If William Faulkner had a friend with a dog Furbo cam)
OLE PISS ON THE DOGS and ALL THE VISORS
PUT EM DOWN
this was a manufactured post but I feel we need to keep the dog cam omen alive for lucks sake
He tapped it. There, framed in the little box of the camera’s eye, stood Ruffus, his dog, his companion through hours of solitary and companioned cheer alike, that grizzled and loyal animal who'd shared my friends nights and early dawns, who now, unaware of the tiny light blinking its watchful eye from the room’s corner, made his way toward the table. My friend felt the absurd pang of helplessness as he watched Ruffus pause before his precious visor, the hat placed reverently upon the table's surface like some relic of a past joy, a token in the shape of triumph, Titlleist name stitched in bold, assured letters, brimming with the weight of an afternoon's sweat and memory.
my friend watched in a kind of suspended horror as Ruffus sniffed, circled, and lifted his leg, releasing a slow, inevitable stream that darkened the soft material, marking it with a careless abandon as indifferent as the dawn rain spattering my friends windshield. And here he sat, fixed, tethered, wrapped in the lattice of traffic’s relentless grip, unable to speak or shout, bound by distance, as his memories seeped away through the damp fibers.
(If William Faulkner had a friend with a dog Furbo cam)
OLE PISS ON THE DOGS and ALL THE VISORS
PUT EM DOWN
this was a manufactured post but I feel we need to keep the dog cam omen alive for lucks sake
