Thank You, Charley
You wake up at noon to a licorice nose prodding at your face. It’s Charley, your disheveled Wheaten Terrier. He needs a walk and he needs it now. His pleading, squeaking moans turn to deep rumbling parks as his brown eyes say I DEMAND YOU WALK ME THIS INSTANT.
Alright dude, calm down! I’ll get ready.
But what Charley doesn’t understand is that just around the corner, a nameless, shirtless construction worker is dazzling like he’s coated in honey. His tattooed arms are shaking as he powers his electric drill deep into the concrete. Drilling, drilling, trembling, sweating. The ripples of his muscles carve caverns and crevices into his chest and back, like a roadmap. They do this every day. And everyday you think about tracing each ripple with your fingertips, and every day you wonder where they may lead.
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