Sasha Black. Fox Mickey's Diary (№ 465813)

There is no one in the house. A dog wind blows in all the cracks (why a dog wind?). In general, the wind is a fool: it blows in a bare park, and there’s nothing there to pick. In the yard I still deal with it somehow: I’ll stand with my back to the wind, my head down, my legs apart - and “I don’t give a damn,” as the gardener says. And you can’t hide anywhere from this bandit in the room. He bursts from under the door, through the window cracks, through the fireplace hole, and squeaks, and whines, and howls, as if his mother were a dog. He has no muzzle, no throat, no belly, no backside. I can’t figure out what he’s blowing...