A man sat on a moth eaten couch, in a beer stained room. Streams of light from the television shone through cigarette smoke and revealed holes in the walls. The man took a final hit from his Camel, flaring the end. He crushed it between his fingers and flicked it in the general direction of an ashtray. It missed, burning yet another scar in the carpet. He clicked off the television and snatched his beer from a small table as he stood. He chugged the remains then headed for the door.

The room was littered with trash and wrappers, making it seem like it was a sick stomach, ready to spew foul waste everywhere. Every breath coated the lungs with cigarette smoke, the microscopic particles of old food and mold, and a congested grunge. The entire apartment was like a stagnant pool where the little water creatures accumulated and turned the liquid green. You could almost see the larva flinching through the air.
A smudged mirror hung on the wall. He paused to examine himself for a reason he did not know. He did not care how he appeared because he did not care what other people thought of him. The only feature he tailored was his goatee; the rest of his head and face was shaved. He rubbed his chin and felt stubble poking through the skin like stakes poking from a battlefield. He flicked them, slightly miffed. He wore a filthy tank top and forest green cargo pants. Every step he made came with the thump of his military-style boots.
His focus shifted to the dirt and grime that clung to the mirror like moss to a tree. He couldn’t distinguish one image from the other.
He jerked towards the exit and opened the door with the huge force necessary to free it from the frame. The man winced at the rarity of sunlight. He walked out, covering his eyes. The air smelt burnt. Dust rolled around after being kicked up by the passing car. Rubber and asphalt wafted up among gasoline and oil.
He could now hear the most awful sound. The neighbors hosted a dogfighting ring. He could hear snarling and cheering and shouting. Bets were being called as the animals tore each other apart. He shook his head in disgust and regret. Blood and more booze seeped through the cracks in the moldy fences.
As the man strode away from the duplexes another person with a wide-billed hat and leather sports jacket strutted towards him. “Your knees stop quivering yet, E? Or are you still crying over your dead pooch?”
“That dog saved my life!” E screamed, blood boiling. He closed in on him with ferocity.
“Hey, E, dude,” the man in the sports jacket stammered, “I was just kidding!” E silently advanced then punched him in the face with all the force he could muster. The blow slammed him into the yard of another duplex and rendered him unconscious.
E did not let the encounter faze him, and resumed his walk to the 7-Eleven three blocks away. The afternoon sun made the air hot and everything uncomfortably bright. Passing cars crackled on snow gravel left behind by winter. The sweepers had not passed through this part of town. They didn’t care about the people who lived there; nobody did.
As E walked he saw somebody coming up the other side of the street, walking a dog. The other walker stared at him as if expecting E to pull out a knife and mug him. E was examining the dog. His mind automatically assessed how well it would do in a fight. It’s a young German Shepard. It is innocent as it is but could be turned into an aggressive pup. Don’t think like that anymore! But look at the muscles in the hind legs, perfect for- Stop! You’re done with that! I could win money with that dog! For only a couple times then it would die like the last one! E’s eyes widened at the thought. It traumatized him a little. He looked up at the owner who had quickened his pace and was now visibly worried. E shook his head.
E crossed some train-tracks. He passed warehouses where trains picked up and dropped off their cargo. Before long he entered the 7-eleven and quickly got his Doritos.
On the checkout counter a basset hound laid next to the cash register. E knew the clerk. He sometimes came to the ring and bet on a fight but never took his own dog. E could understand why. The hound had the saddest eyes that followed him everywhere. E had to work very hard not to gaze into them constantly. His big ears hung down and made a little hat the hound was trying to hide under.
“What’s your winnings like today?” the young cashier mocked. This only earned him the finger.
“Not good, huh,” he chuckled.
“Good enough for me to remember that you owe me a couple bucks. You can pay for this.” E realized that his comeback didn’t make sense but his main insult still got across. The clerk pursed his lips. “I may not fight dogs anymore, but I’d kill you.” With that, E threw down a rack of postcards and left the store.
E felt as lonely and bitter as the can he kicked all the way to the train-tracks. He started eating on the way and figured that bag would be gone before he got home. He didn’t care; the cashier owed him more money.
E heard a soft whimper to his. A little Border collie meandering along the train-tracks puppy looked up at him. It was like the dog was eager to see him yet was also nervous. E stopped and crouched. The dog was only weeks old. It could have been born stray or from an owner could not take care of a litter of puppies; either way it was very vulnerable. As soon as a bigger hungry dog found it it would be doomed. If anybody involved in the ring saw it they would sell it to the ring where it would be ripped to pieces. E thought there was enough death there already.
E held out his arm and the dog took it as a sign of acceptance and trotted towards him, ears bouncing. E quickly picked it up and pulled it close trying to hide it. The dog buried its face in him, like it was also trying to hide. E stood awkwardly and turned towards his home. He shuffled the last block with haste, and pulled the puppy inside before it could hear the sounds next door.
E quickly let the dog down and wiped his face with his hand. The puppy sneezed with surprising violence multiple times with its legs spread wide like it was preparing for an explosion. Then it laid down with its head on its paws.
E moaned and shook his head. He was already regretting taking the dog. He pulled out a cigarette but just as he was about to light it he glanced at the dog. It looked at the cigarette sadly. E could tell what it was saying.
“Hey!” he said. “I just saved your life, give me a break.” He light it and immediately was relieved. “Look, I’ll clean up for you, but realize that if it wasn’t for me you would be dead by tomorrow.” The dog glanced away. “That’s our compromise, I’ll take care of you and clean up, and you…” he paused. “I’m repaying a debt.” He nodded. “Well do you want some beer?”