I let the Hammer out into a tremendous storm early this morning. The trees were shaking like they needed a hit. Half an hour later I let her in. She was wetter and colder than a steel cooler of beer on ice on a hot summer afternoon. She shook before I could get a towel on her. I was naked.
Then she ran for the bedroom to share her happiness about being let in from the storm with Sonja. She jumped on the bed and rolled around. Sonja was not amused. "Off! Off! Off!" The Hammer ran into the living room, shook what water was left on her all over the furniture, grabbed her squeaky and lay down in her bed. Two seconds later she was fast asleep.
Sonja and I fell back asleep soon after our dog. Sonja dreamed of flying somewhere warm where there were bargains everywhere you looked; I dreamed about skating on Titan's frozen methane lakes. When we finished decribing our dreams to one another much later in the morning Sonja said, "You sure do dream some fucked up shit Beer." I had heard about the latest from Titan on CBC radio. It is the CBC's job to give Canadians more fucked up than average dreams.
After I made some organic apple muffins and drank several coffees and Sonja cleaned up the mess I made in the kitchen the day before, we headed to Sliverville to visit Sonja's dad. He has moved to the top floor of his building so he does not have to listen to people walking and fucking above him. He is in a senior's building, according to Sonja's dad old dears do a lot of walking and fucking. "The guy who was above me in my place on the second floor is the building's lady's man. He fucks every every old moo in the building at least once a day."
As the Hammer and I waited for Sonja to be buzzed into her dad's building one of the old dears her dad's old neighbour was fucking and fucking and fucking walked up to us and told me, "You can't bring that dog in!" People are so fucked up. The old dear had not a shred of authourity in this world except to remind us not to bring my shady dog into her building.
My dog and I walked up to one of the parks where I used to run the Strangler. The parking lot of the park has seen about one million cheap blow jobs performed on a million cheap men. Condoms and needles were all the night's rain had not washed down the sewer. The park is as I remembered it except for the addition of a place for skateboarders to hang out and admire one another's boxer shorts. A few brown buddies played basketball in the puddly court. They played poorly but at least they were outside playing.
The Hammer chased some crows through grass sloppy as a two-bit whore's snapper. On our way out of the park a man was just leaving his vehicle with a metal detector. I asked him, "Out looking for guns?" He eyed me up Dope City quick and asked back, "You need one?" I answered, "If I ever move back here I will."
Around the corner from the park I spotted a young guy dressed all in black with a hoody, like the Unabomber, like me. I could tell he was thinking, "I gotta get me a big black motherfucking dog like that motherfucker's."