14 January 2012

The Hammer's Favourite Guy Besides Me

Saw the guy whose shit my dog eats today after work. Despite his living in the bush just a stone's throw from my house I hardly ever see him. Last time I saw him, back in summer, he had a broken arm in a dirty cast.

The Hammer greeted him first. Does not look like he is a dog guy. Not afraid of the Hammer or anything, just not as happy to see her as most people are. It was getting to be dusk. I think he was heading for a warmer place to sleep for the night than his tarp home.

"How's the fucking arm?" I asked him.

"Not bad," he told me, swinging it a little to prove how well attached it was to him.

That was about it. He is anti-social as fuck. Our brief conversation more than he hears or says in a week when the weather is warm enough to allow him to stay in his tent without freezing to death.

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