Dusky has her nose to the air, and a slightly awkward amount of weight leaning on my forearm. A certain smell drifts past, and she tilts her head uncomfortably upward, black nostrils flared. I sit beside her, on the cold concrete, wondering what instinctual tendancy tells her to acknowledge this particular smell, and at almost the same time wondering why i wonder about things at all. I give up quickly and begin to stroke her left ear, thumb underneath, the way she likes it. Dusky leans into me in approval, and i continue rubbing the silky side. This relaxingly repetative motion continues for us both as we sit observing the front lawn in darkness. Suddenly, a car horn fires off in the distance. I unconsciously peer in the direction of the sound, wondering what could have happened. A moment passes, lost in my odd trance, and Dusky reminds me that i have stopped rubbing her ear by wedging her long nose under my motionless wrist and thrusting upwards. I indulge her in one last stroke, and playfully run my hand from collar to snout, ruffling her hair. Dusky slowly turns her yellow and white face towards me and stares into my eyes for a short moment before just as easily reversing this motion, and resting her head on the concrete. So, we sit still as the night passes. Dusky, wondering about smells, about noises, about me. Me, wondering about the car horn, about girls, about my hair, about work, about cell signal, about money, about girls, about a lie, about the future, about girls.

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