Unclean beasts wander dusty streets under flaccid sun. City asleep, they scroll and scavenge trash in empty fields, abandoned buildings with unfinished roofs, the overgrowth along the beach before the sea. A fisherman used to leave fish heads in a heap at the end of the jetty til others berated him, threatened to leave him behind or worse. Now any who stubbornly return are kicked, beaten, peppered with stones and bits of brick. From the cliffs they gaze upon the cemented stone walls weathered pale and smooth in the sun and spray, but they venture there no further.
Darkness comes early by the sea, bringing small respite from the heat. In the dinner hour pups cower in corners under mothers’ teats sucked taut against the bone. Ribs stick out like shipwrecks and between them fester wounds that cannot heal. Their eyes narrow and ears drop back flat against their slender skulls. They wait.
Farther down they gather on the beach around the remains of an offering. Charred meats cake teeth. Incisors. Premolars. Chops are licked absentmindedly and curled tails waggle in a steamy night breeze, content. Lapping waves lull them to sleep and there they will rest until men with sticks in the early grey bright of dawn come to clear the beaches for the tourists.
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