Roger sits and waits. There's a bit of spittle on his face, but he remains alert, waiting.
Roger wants attention. He knows he shouldn't. He tries to ignore the people around him who appear to want his attention. He continues to stare into the middle distance, but this is just a ploy to remain aloof.
A woman walks up to him and asks him if he's alright. Of course, he's alright. He's waiting. He has to wait. The woman asks him if he needs anything, but Roger continues to ignore her.
I walk up to the woman, asking if all is alright. Of course, it is. Even I can see that Roger is waiting. I extend my hand to Roger, but he ignores that too.
The woman has fewer scruples than me and places a hand on Roger's shoulder. He continues to stare into the middle distance, appearing a little agitated, but tries no to show it.
Others approach Roger, looking at him in awe. All Roger wants is to remain alone. But it's not going to happen. It's 8 pm outside of Coles. People want their dinner. People will keep passing by, looking at Roger, wondering why he's there.
More pass by, all of whom make a comment about this lonely figure, staring into space.
And then he sees what he's after, and his face lights up. And all is right with the world.
Oh, did I mention that Roger is an old Golden Retriever waiting for his Dad?
Roger made a lot of friends tonight. He dished out slobbery kisses and rolled over for a belly rub before his dad came out with this bachelor's hand bad (roast chicken) and a packet of rolls.
The entourage scattered, and Roger and his dad went walking down Church Street. And there is nothing happier than the sight of a Golden Retriever, out on an evening walk with his Dad, knowing he's going to be getting some chicken scraps later. He was positively skipping down the road.
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