Is it a coincidence that Bill Wither's Just the Two of Us is looping around endlessly in my head as I walk my dog the evening of the breakup call?
In other words, once again, it is just the two of us: Mister Trevor Dog and Me.
Sure, walking him is like walking a boulder, since it often involves pulling dead weight.
Sometimes he just plunks himself down on the pavement, kersplat!, and when I turn around to see what is holding him up he is just crouching there low, glowering at me, giving me the finger.
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