Promising a big fire, any fire

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Next you must learn to relinquish all control over everything you might wish to control. You must learn to prefer to be led about by the neck on a piece of string, or staked to a neglected lawn by a length of chain.
You must learn, once you have sampled the freedom of a life without a chain, that it is better to return and be chained again. Or you may learn that it is not — a fugitive is also a kind of dog.

Of course you must learn to love, to love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much as the violence of your own love. You must learn to be confused but never disappointed by a deficiency of love. You must give up your children and not know why.
You must lose yourself wholly in activity; you must never feel an itch that you do not scratch.
You must learn how to wait at the foot of the bed and hope, silently, that somebody is drunk enough or lonely enough to invite you up, and you must learn not to show your excitement too much or overplay your hand.

If you want to be a dog, you must learn to believe that you are not in fact a dog at all.

– How to Be a Dog, Andrew Kane

– How to Be a Dog, Andrew Kane

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"Javi's a good kid, he can get the job done," Lalo spoke, wafting smoke out of his face, glancing up at the stars gliding across a beautiful New Mexican sky

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"Javi's a good kid, he can get the job done," Lalo spoke, wafting smoke out of his face, glancing up at the stars gliding across a beautiful New Mexican sky. His jeans felt warm in comparison to the chill in the night air, sitting on the hood of his car had been a wise decision.

Elias took a deep breath, flicking his dying cigarette to the sand and taking a swig of the mezcal him and Lalo had been meaning to finish. He grimaced before speaking and handing the bottle off. "We really need Pinkman's approval to kill his asshole partner? I could easily make it look like the cancer."

Lalo huffed a laugh, the mezcal burned down his throat and he relished in it. The burn reminded him of a hot grill, the engine of a car, the sun beating down on him in the Chihuahuan desert, and of melting rubber, his father screaming for help. He looked over at Elias, face flushed from the few shots of mezcal he had, cheeks rosy and stubble defining his jaw perfectly, Lalo smirked to himself as he saw a purple, mouth shaped bruise peaking out from his crewneck shirt.

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