All the normals and sheep between 15 and 20 within a twenty mile radius go there every year. I put on an old hat and a really big jacket that it is way too warm for, but I don’t much care. I haven’t spoken to Hadley all week and every thought of her is like rubbing my tongue over a cut in my mouth: it hurts to pick at, but I can’t control myself. I’m also leave pretty late. If I’m extra lucky, then maybe everybody will already be drunk or the damn thing will be over (courtesy of the cops). Right now, Dog is giving me that whining whistle, with a “why don’t you love me?” look while I put my shoes on. I swear Caesar is right and all canines are telekinetic, because he always knows when I’m going somewhere in my pickup. I feel like a royal asshole, but I can’t take him with me, not when there’s a chance I could get picked-up. I could just see some asshole cop shoving him in a cage overnight, or Dog getting his ass chewed up by a pitbull in a shelter, while I, respectively, am getting my ass chewed up in jail.
