An immense cloud passed over our fraction of the sun and the rain fell heavy. It struck the streets.

This day, I was curling my toes around the filth.
My keeper screams at me.

And she-she stares at me.  Through a frown tacked to the corner of his bedroom mirror.

"You don't write, you whine, set that pen down."

He sits on the edge of this cushion, and the mice sleep in the stove.