Tighlman next door was kicking his dog again. He had the sweetest little cocker spaniel, and the bastard kicked the hell out of it at least once a week. Why even have a dog if you’re gonna treat it that way?

I’d tried talking to him, but it was no use. Most people listen when you talk reasonably to them, but some don’t. He didn’t, told me to shove off and mind my own business.

Normally I do, mind my business that is. But I hate to see innocent creatures suffer, and that’s one sweet little dog.

So this afternoon I went across town to the surplus store and bought a pair of work boots. Nice heavy leather ones with lug soles and steel toe-caps. Fifteen ‘E’ is a hard size to find—I was lucky.

Now I’ll explain things to Tighlman in a way I’m sure he’ll understand.


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