THEY SAID I COULDN’T KEEP MY DOG—SO I MADE A DEAL I’M STILL PAYING FOR I’ve been out here with Dibs for almost four years. He’s not just a dog—he’s the last thing I got from my brother before he OD’d. Everyone around here knows us. Some folks hand us snacks. Some pretend we’re invisible. It’s whatever. But last winter, the cold got bad. Like, wake-up-with-ice-in-your-hair bad. A shelter van rolled by and the guy inside said, “We’ve got a cot for you. Hot food. But no pets.”

I’ve been out here with Dibs for almost four years. He’s not just a dog—he’s the last thing I got from my brother before he overdosed. Everyone around here knows us. Some people hand us snacks. Some pretend we don’t exist. Whatever. Last winter, though, it got brutally cold. Like, waking-up-with-ice-in-your-hair cold. A shelter van…