that big dog felt tough and so he was, but i know he only played that and he was fucked like every pooch from the street. he had nothing into his mouth, and if only anyone just gave him a little mercy, handing him a nice word and touched him, he would be his forever. his little brother, for the big one was everything in the world (he looked like mr. krontorad´s asta, just a bit more dirty and more lank) experienced things differently. he was very sensitive. little inferior, what would have loved curling in a state of panic, but he was not given and that´s not gonna happen - i can tell you at the outset. it was kind of a mix shaggy (mother and an unknown father, too) which nonobody wals him. additionally, he was tiny too much and could not bark. they two slept together in the bushes a short distance from the store where they all shouted at them both and occasionally stretch them after someone threw a rock or a stick. although the sea water was salty but the winter was quite warm, so they didin´t suffer from cold and sometimes even someone threw something to chow. mostly it was just an old hard bread, but both agreed that smoked eel was simply drained out of their life (their never ever ate it ..). neither of them had a name, and i saw them only once, but i named the rouhg one martin grof and the smaller one was simply jepeto, just like in that movie.
one beautifull morning, when the sun was rising and jepeto still asleep, martin grof went on a patrol, because he suspected that the beautiful whiteblack bitch next door was rutting. jepeto was a little kid, but martin grof already know how it works, and he desires. it was a relatively quiet street, which rode up to three cars a day. one of them was driven by baker gigi. the previous day he was drinking all night and he still felt cannonau by sellaimosca on his tongue. actually, he was still totally on rock, but the weekend was coming so he felt better. the radio was playing a real shit, so he decided for u remind me by röyksopp and hunted the cd at the back seat.
the front bumper hit martin grof exactly on the head, so it was quick.
jepeto woke up around seven and walked to safety. martin grof about that doggirl talked almost constantly. he found him under the withered olive. beside him lay a plastic bottle of soda water, rusted penlight and an old t-shirt with the fifa world cup italia 1990. he seemed to be asleep on the shirt, but it was over.
around him came across a smiling and suntanned bunch of boys and girls in shorts with bottles of cannonau by sellaimosca and rey ban sunglasses and jepeto remained alone on the street at the beginning of this beautifull summer. he was hungry and he was sad...