Lion Head Mesa Watching cityscapes turn to dust

he wasn't no canine adonis, not to any aesthete's taste, rotund as he was with winter fur leaving, but winter chub remaining. the once-vizier padded down the hall with a pensive, furrowed expression, like a man chewing lemons while thinking of dead mothers.

the presence of the bright-faced, lamblike youth had him stop at an intersection, face lifted with a squint at her charming antics.

usually in company of a morose daughter, this had the effects of seeing sunlight after some prolonged vacation in the cellar.

he had the well-ingrained manners to lift his head and shoulders, make the furred tail lifelessly sway. only his smile couldn't be warmed yet. he looked more tired than pleasant when he addressed the well-eared girl:

"goo'fternoon, miss. that tune fer two?"