wing to wing we dance around / joining

[B. DELORIA]

[align=center][div style="width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-size: 9.4pt; line-height: 1.4;"]Butch wished he woulda known The Pitt was a town of kooks and freaks- then he might've given it more space so that Tsuyu couldn't have dragged him off like she did. Damn Frog Lady and her creepy tongue. She was taking a bit of nap now, fortunately, except she'd also been the only person between Butch and someone whose attic had a whole other horde of bats filling it. Didn't really matter: at the end of the day, he was still stuck here with a collar around his neck that had her name on it, trudging around the sand and below ground with no one he wanted to talk to. Butch couldn't decide anymore if he wanted Val to find him, because yeah, it'd be swell to have a semi-friend around again, but if Val were here it probably wouldn't be a lollipops-and-rainbows situation. The collie was torn between selfishness and...the opposite of that.

Whatever. Butch didn't miss Val- he didn't. That was bogus.

Exhaling, he continued wandering around, since nobody'd told him what they wanted of him just yet and he wasn't going to go asking for it. Why'd they have to live in a desert? Stupid sand kept ruining his fur. He'd really gotten the royal shaft, hadn't he? Couldn't focus on that, though, otherwise he'd be milking it all day, and luckily -unluckily?- there was a poor schmuck at the border. Talking to himself? Nah, hoping somebody'd hear him, probably. At least somebody's gamble would pay off.

He eyeballed the tattoos on the larger canine's legs. Where'd he come from, the circus? "Cool your jets, man. Nobody's berries need razzing around here, believe me." They had low standards, anyway. Butch was just caught in the middle. "You wanna toss your lot in with these guys, that's your choice. Just lay dead until somebody without a collar adds in their two cents."