I like to whistle. Something about little diddies made up of my breath helps to calm me when I’m sad. Invisible music.

I am sad today, and I’ve been sad for the last few days. I’ve lost my puppy, Mr. Scraptastic.

He’s fond of trashcans and sewer lines. He’ll run for miles after a ball and sleeps inches from and within my heart.

I whistle “How Much is that Doggy in the Window.”

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I see some guy dressed in clashing dacyron looking in a trashcan across the street. God damn he is ugly.

“Hey we about ready to go?”

“Yeah Gritz, let’s go.”

“So we gots ourselves a target?”

“I think I just found one.”

“Who?”

“That faggy butterfly across the street…”

“What’s he doing? Is he fooking whistlin’?”

We cross the street. Gritz tightens his fingers around the grip of the bat. I shift my knife to my right hand.

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I like to whistle. I wish somebody would come help me look for my puppy.

Here comes two guys now…