Lemon, with her wet dog scent, waddled along the sidewalk, drinking the rain dripping from her fur on her head.
I ran every possible scenario in my head of what would happen if I turned back. Fifteen minutes passed. We didn't turn back. Lemon seemed confused, but easily forgot, focusing on the pitter-patter of the rain drops, bouncing upon her shaggy head.
My feet began to itch. My shoes, drenched in the cold hard rain. Puddles and puddles for miles. Lemon grew tired. Her breathing turning into hard panting. She needed to rest. I needed to rest.
You may be wondering: how could I be writing in some cold hard rain?
Well we're resting, in a nice cramped convenient store. Somehow for some reason, I managed to get the tall red-headed worker behind the counter to be convinced to bring Lemon in. Her wet hair dripping in the women's bathroom, as I grab myself an energy bar with some spare money from my pocket. And by spare, I mean $685 I saved up for two years, waiting for this act of freedom to come true.
I take a peek into the woman's stalls, nobody else was in their but Lemon, so I figured that the worker wouldn't mind.
I walked in to find Lemon, on the cold wet floor, drinking water that came from her fur. A giant piddle lay in the middle of the room, and Lemon, freezing am staring at me with an awfully guilty look, stops drinking and sits in the middle of the piddle with a now, satisfying look.
I am currently locked in a woman's stall with an almost soaked journal in my hands, as well as a pen of dark ink, and writing in a journal.
After the shaggy dog's refreshing drink, we exited the store after I payed for the bar, and continued our "long walk".
We supposed that every neighborhood we passed would ask us "where are your parents" or "don't you think it's a bit late for someone your age to be walkin' out this late?" I still, to this day, am confused as to why adults think of a twelve year-old and correspond that with a nine year-old.
Anyway, Lemon and I walk down a hill near Orchard Ln. A forest is down there, one I spent my spare time there a S and young child. Happy, yet not happier times.
A bush I call Allid, is where we sleep tonight. A nice quiet place as the sounds of crickets and insects sing us to sleep. I drift away during my first night, of pure freedom.
