Pitbull Creative Writing

The Receipt
He stroked his filthy, matted hair as he clutched the plastic bag to his chest, careful not to spill any of its contents. His eyes darted across the emptied parking lot, careful and aware. His stomach ached; he was in no shape to fight for his belongings. He had lost enough lately. He had crossed the lot in a beeline towards the edge of the stores, turning the corner and clinging to the walls of the building as a drizzle of rain begun. The air was humid and produced a metallic aroma. He was nearing the large cubes of air conditioning units behind the buildings, and they drowned the small noises of the swaying trees and crunching leaves. Living as he was, he had begun to pick up the noises they made. He entered a familiar, worn trail that widened near the back entrance of the stores. The drizzle began to intensify; it slowly began spotting his white shirt with wet spots. His greasy
He had found the poor lab in an alleyway with bruises up and down its body. But it had love in its eyes, he thought. The Pit Bull had no empathy. That was the difference between them. It had begun moving slowly at the tent. The boy quickly bit off a piece of duct tape and wrapped his dog’s wound. It would take both of them. The menacing terrier broke into a sprint with gnashing teeth. The boy had no weapons but his fists and friend. His dog braved and lunged at the beast. The boy did as well, punching, kicking, and yelling. The creature probably weighed twice what he did. His dog let out a cry, but he could not tell if it was owing to the preexisting injury or a fresh wound. He could barely see through his drenched hair and the sheets of rain. The beast, unfeeling, did not yelp when he caught its jaw with a sharp blow. It simply paused, stared at him, and backed away slowly. It seemed bewildered, but its beady eyes exhibited no signs of pain. It was