"On the way home I saw Caesar," an old wolfhound mix in the neighborhood we're both fond of, "and he had a cone on from surgery."
"You mean Serge?" Katie asks with an indulgent smile.
Do I forget the names of things, people, dogs, because secretly, secret even from myself, I know there are truer names than the ones we give, true names at the essence of things, of which our appellations are only approximations?
"Oh God, and she was too polite to even correct me," I groan.
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One year ago: Street Scenes
Two years ago: We Give It Life
Three years ago: A Man In The Kitchen
Four years ago: Touchdown
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