get up old dog.
these wooden tables sit beneath clouds of czech tobacco smoke.
old dog gets up from that table true to name.
god damn old dog when did ya get so old.
all right. all right. i'll take it easy on ya pal.
so there he goes. old dog gets up from the table and huffs the secondhand into his lungs almost gratefully cuz why. cuz it's a familiar smoke is why.
and old dog if he has done one thing, it's this before.
heads through a door down a staircase and a couple pretty hyenas with their faces distorted by the crude intoxicants swimming within the sludge of his tarry blood, they eye him.
and like he does old dog he gives em that slow sharp old dog smile and rambles on down them stairs to something like a basement and then another basement and hell it's just like that in this steampunk post cold war paradise.
i wanna live like this forever. i wanna live like this forever. i wanna the music cries or is it old dog who cries. he was getting nervous up in that cafe but down here in the bowels is that old familiar human density and loud sound and drinks flowing cheaper than dust all collecting to that satisfying feeling of gosh darn old dog opportunity
so old dog goes to smelling around and usually when it's like this old dog this dog that old dog he don't usually when it's like this he don't usually leave this kind of place alone
