THE DOG HUNTERS (completed)

64 - DOGS IN HEAVEN

After about year of hiking, I still hadn't felt the urge to step into the wasteland, where ever that was. I kept circling around Ace City, and I ran into Lulubelle at the southern end of Picker's Park in the outdoor amphitheater of a new hipster children's playground.

The sun was orange and almost out of sight, and there were comfortable looking corners presenting themselves as possible camp options (I'd passed through Picker's Park already on one of my loops and could testify the fuzz didn't mess with you as long as you stayed out of the way and didn't fuck with the locals, especially in the morning,when they were all out walking their dogs and getting their precious little paper cups of obscenely expensive coffee).

I'd found a particularly good-looking spot behind an array of exercise equipment, and almost stepped on Lulubelle, who had already set up his camp there, and had a sawed off shotgun pointed square at my nuts.

"What's this?" I said, genuinely surprised. I said this more to me than him. I was talking – not muttering – a lot to myself again,something that I see as natural when you've got no one else to talk to.

He recognized me too, I could tell, even though his expression didn't change. He put down the shotgun and stood up. "Bogart."

With the gun lowered, we exchanged a big hug that made me think of Rasto, who'd gotten really huggy during the last month or so of his time at the VendiJob, despite his terrible attitude. This hug didn't feel sweaty or smell like solvent and funk. Lulubelle smelled clean, healthy.

We made camp together and shared our dinners, and shared stories of our adventures living outside and just beyond. Lulubelle had upgraded from the stroller to a serious looking electric scooter, on which someone had installed a side cab. Lulubelle informed me it was extremely helpful in getting them to the cats. That's right, it was all about cats now. No mention of dogs. They could now checkout two locations in one morning time instead of one. "We've really blown the charts apart," Lulubelle happily declared.

The other part of the "we" showed up a little later, another shrimpy white kid, pale with nervous, interested eyes. He called himself Asimov. He was just as excited to talk about the benefits of the scooter, and of recent of cat chasing triumphs.

I asked how they'd gotten together.

"At the time, it made the most sense," Asimov told me. And that was that. I didn't need any more explanation.

I asked why cats these days instead of dogs. Lulubelle gave me a queer look and said matter of factly, "Fuck no dogs, I've always been a cat chaser."

I wasn't sure exactly what this meant, and decided that was probably the point.

Right before it was time to clock out I couldn't resist, and asked Lulubelle if he'd seen Tinto ever again. Lulubelle gave me a precious look, like I was trying to be clever. "No," he said. "He went over the hill. Over the hill and far away."

Then he farted, which they both thought was hilarious.