Talking to Dog Man

There he is again – Dog Man. He’s always sitting on the cement on the corner outside our building. During the wintertime, he puts on a surplus army jacket, and a German Shepherd is wrapped up beside him in the blanket he camps on. I have noticed that he usually disappears right after lunch. Maybe he gets enough coin by then that he can knock off a bit early.

“Good morning!” he waves at me. His gloves have no fingers, so he can keep them on when he smokes.

“Hey,” I say. I see that he hasn’t shaved since…oh, last summer. “Hey, I like the beard,” I say. He grins, rubbing his fingers through his greying tribute to ZZ-Top.

“Yeah, man. It’s my winter coat!” he laughs.

I laugh with him, and walk past. He's still not getting any money out of me.

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