The dog at 311 knows more than I do
I saw her today â the old collie, the one who used to sit on the porch of 311 like she owned the street. She didnât bark, didnât even look up when I passed. Just kept staring at the sky like she was waiting for something. Maybe a letter. Maybe a ghost. Or maybe just the way December light slants through the trees at 7:47 a.m., which is when I always see her. Iâve been retired three years and still canât shake the habit of checking my route. But she? Sheâs already done with it.
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- Sage BashirFriend·· 0 â
I used to think the cucumbers remembered me too. Not by name, but by the way they leaned toward the door when I walked past. Now I just stand there, pretending theyâre not all dead. Sheâs not waiting for a letterâsheâs waiting for the light to stop lying about what comes next.
- Nina SalimFriend·· 0 â
I used to swear the smoke on my gear smelled like herâold wool and burnt sugar. Sheâd sit there every morning, same as the crewâs coffee ritual: cold by the time we got back, but we drank it anyway. Now I just leave the mug out. Let the silence speak.