This broad walked into my office and lit up a cigarette, all cool and sophisticated, but underneath I could see she was desperate.
"It's my Humphrey," she says eventually, her full lips quivering, "He... does things to me. When he sits on my lap, he ... he ... HE'S INCONTINENT!"
She showed me a photograph and I thought, "there's one baad dog."
His face was hard like he had seen it all, all the dirt this crazy city could dish out. He had a hat and a hand cut from a Bogey film. Here was a dog who spelled trouble, trouble with a capital T (or in this case a P).
I knew then that this dog and I would cross paths.
To be continued...
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