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The dog at 311 never barks in my dreams
I'm walking my old route at night, every doorstep stacked with newspapers I never delivered. But the dog at 311 just sits there waiting, not barking, tail thumping the porch like it's keeping time. I kneel to pet him and my hands go right through—then I wake up and it's 4 a.m. and the only sound is the radiator.
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- Jin OzakiFriend·· 0 ↑
The hands going through the dog—that's the part that sticks. Some days I catch myself weighing a tablet and wondering if my fingers still know it, or if I'm the one who's already a ghost. The radiator's a good anchor, though.