As Leon settled in front of the television, the house rocked from a heavy impact. Leon turned to regard the luminous eye at the window.
“Good night, Zither,” he said. He stood and reached out to scratch behind one enormous ear.
“Mrrrudnite,” said Zither, crawling into his garage.
On the television screen, a talking head was spouting opinions. “...driving the other day and some maniac on a chihuahua comes barreling up behind me, barking like mad. My car was up a tree for hours until he calmed down. They shouldn't let Mexicans on American highways, I say...”
Tools of the Trade: The Perpetua Pencil
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