shrine to the prophet of americana

Sitting in a bar, cat walks in through the open door, lazily looks around, flops down on the floor. I catch its eyes, beckon it...

Sitting in a bar, cat walks in through the open door, lazily looks around, flops down on the floor. I catch its eyes, beckon it over, give it scratchies. Hangs around a few minutes longer, lazily heads out.

Someone once said that the best clue to the character of a neighborhood was if the street cats trust people.

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