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and the hot, muggy air,

and jingle, jangle of the hound’s tinkling tags as she investigates, everything.

a shift from one side to the other.

a deep crack, that will eventually envelop the house whole, runs down the middle.

bicycles pulled out and dusted, a motorcycle fanned over to the wall, by the man with the vision.

and here I sit, on a cement step, watching this dance between animal and man and machine.

the broom falls over, but the loud snap is hardly noteworthy.