It was my birthday last week. I breathed a sigh of relief when I woke, pleased to have survived my 28th year without choking on vomit or blowing my head off with a shotgun. (I've got more brains than Kurt Cobain's got.)
Sunday morning I went for a walk and returned home with a stray dog. It pissed in my front room and shit in the bedroom. I borrowed a lead and returned it to its owner, a local methadone addict I located in a nearby cemetery.
"I want a dog,
A chihuahua
When I get back to my small flat
I want to hear somebody bark"