Dogs line up at the edge of the streetlight’s reach, intent on something beyond. They’re quiet for now, but they tip their heads and crease their brows with all the eloquence of great orators, communicating the essence and subtle nuance of dog truth – which, of course, is the truth of the whole wide world. All I see is darkness, and all I smell is dog, damp and tangy in the bristling night: but the breeze that brings this (dis)comforting scent is a sharp alert of change. The dogs are still now, but I feel the world turn a little bit faster. This is when the growling starts.
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Oz Hardwick
Picture Nick Victor
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