Lucky

The mongrel has one ear. The other is missing, a jagged flap of skin covering the skin-puckered hole. From the set of his jaw, he’s part staffie, with a lurcher’s long tail and part something else. He walks jauntily through the road dust and litter and the new black ash, his tongue lolling like a freshly sliced piece of ham. That’s how I first see him, owning the lonely street and leaving pawprints. He’s the first living thing I’ve seen here.

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