Stuff that only ever comes to mind at times like these.  Like how do small stores stay in business like this.  With all the 7 elevens everywhere must be hard.  The main the main thought at the moment was I need to come up with a name for the dog.  I can’t just call him Dog for the rest of his life.

It was my turn at the register and the grumpy store keeper rang up my stuff at the speed of a turtle.  I had the urge to tell him time was an issue.

“Can I get a pack of Parliaments?”  I asked.  He looked at me up and down.  Eyes narrowed behind his thick metal glasses.  I could just see the gears turning in his head.

“Can I get an ID?” he asked me in a flat low voice.  

I was prepared for this.  I took out my fake ID and handed it to him.  It was a pretty good one, not that it mattered.  I doubt he could even see it.  

He looked at the card then me then the card again.  After a grunt, he slapped the piece of plastic down on the counter and went to retrieve a pack of cigarettes from the back.  I bought a lighter and payed the man, even gave him a tip.

That Ding dong noise rang once again as I exited.

“Hey buddy”  I called to the shaggy white pup still waiting for me outside the store.  His eyes sparked and he danced over to me.  I opened the sausage stick and broke off a piece.  He ate it within a mil a seconds.

He was skinny.  Anyone with eyes could see that.  I’m not sure if he was stray.  He was defiantly homeless but friendlier than any stray I’d ever met.  Plus he listened to me.  Either way he had a home now, with me.

I lit a cigarette and broke off pieces of sausage for him as we walked.

Finally.  I made it to the place I was trying to get to last night.  An old abandoned office in LA.  It was a brick building covered in graffiti.  The drive way to the entrance was cracked, weeds were growing in between the fractures giving the place an erie look.  The windows were fogged up with dirt, while all doors except one were boarded up.