There's something very therapeutic about coming out to speak with you all. I dare say addictive, even. A common sin of my lineage; addiction. However, not all dogs are created equal. A lot of my bloodline found addiction in the wrong things... Like the really wrong things... I had an ancestor who was a speed demon once. Naughty one, that guy... There's certainly worse, but I'll spare you." Dog sighs and shakes his head.

"Almost every member of my line has been addicted to building large weapons." Dog smiles and makes a gun with his pointer finger, mouthing 'pewpew' as if shooting with his lips. "Many of the addictions of my bloodline are hazardous to our health, it seems. As ever, I'm certain my mouth will get me into trouble like so many of those before me, despite my best intention to genuinely be a force for good. I'll endeavour to continue."

"My ancestors though. In my fortunate position as holder of hindsight, I realise they were foolish! The pen is mightier than the sword. Pursuing this life through the lens of a spreadsheet is unnecessary. It is possible to come and just... be.

It is possible to release yourself of the greed and desire to live forever - and make no mistake, that is where every single one of us has been guilty of being greedy: in pursuit of eternal life. Until you understand, then accept, then embrace the fact that you are a mere mortal with a guaranteed expiry date looming in the distance, you will never be free from life's cruel clutch. You will forever live in fear of the clock. You cannot act freely when in fear.

Everyone is censoring themselves. People are scared to come out and shoot rats for training. People fear prosperity. Genuinely, my line have seen it in the small talk of the HQs around our country. High ranking mobsters warning the youngsters to be careful with having too much success for fear it may put the crew in danger. I do not wish to put this crew in any further jeopardy, I think all should get to chase prosperity, but I'll swear it on Mama Dog right now, this shit is happening out there, folks.

My line have never really sought to suffocate this place in such a way, but we understand how the world works. To exist in that place, they believed you must be built from power. They believed that a kind word and a big stick go further than a kind word alone. I'm hoping today that is false... Because I don't have a gun and I think they were foolish to pursue such things. I'm the first mobster in my line that has outright refused the gun from the off and never taken life.

I'm not addicted to murder and power like you savages."

The dog dances over to a prepared ramp, majestically marches up and turns his gaze into the distance as if looking over all six cities.

He enjoys the view for a moment then sits on his hind legs.

"I've missed this place."

"It's not the same as it used to be, but it does still have a charm about it. I found that once you learn to ignore the Jimmys and the Striphes of the world, you can still enjoy our thing in little ways. Even when I built a gun, I very rarely got to use it anyway. Waste of time at least half the time. It was always inevitable a wipe or a slip down the stairs would come. This has been the way of our world for a long time now. Unless you were willing to be the person to pull the trigger first. We've done that a couple times, admittedly. But not as often as we should have perhaps and often not soon enough.

Perhaps we should remember this about the scousepoles and SantoRubios of the world. They're just desperate to use their guns as much as their masters allow them, even if it means turning them on their own friends and associates cyclically. The cost of betraying those who choose to trust in you is a regular expenditure on the successful mobster's spreadsheet today.

I've spent a lot of time thinking about this and honestly, I don't blame them. It's the 50s... These new television things? They're gonna ruin our society. We're gonna be dealing with some serious consequences for decades to come... Their brains will get soft, I'm telling you now... They'll rot!" He chuckles briefly before returning to serious.

"But really, I don't blame them. I know I harp on like an old man, but I'm an old spirit inside, you have to understand..." The dog waves his right, front paw around. "They've found the easy life... They get too much money, too much power... They get fat and greedy and they stop coming out to speak. They stop caring. They take it eeeasy." He waves his paw around again. "Lazy."

"You see, I really do have to admit - it is fucking annoying having to piss every ten yards whenever I walk down the street. But would I accept having my balls chopped off like this bunch? No fucking chance!"

"It's very freeing being away from all that power. All the guns and crew leader positions. People asking you for favours and trying to trade information. People pretending to like you because you're doing well or because you know someone or because someone doesn't know you or whatever the fuck else bullshit happens around here anymore. It's so alien to me now. It's beautiful. I partake in as little of it as possible of the underhand shit as possible."

"Not like my ancestors. They strived for power. They never really wanted complete control of the game - just once perhaps, maybe a tale for another time. But they wanted the chance to make a difference. They pursued middle management. Sponsor. Slants. Bold. Accountant... Haha, yeah we've had a couple of family accountants - do they still do those? We haven't seen one of those in a while... Weekly earnings mail, a good chance for the growing mobster to flex back in the day. A good way to spur some activity and donations. Of course, we wouldn't just do a spreadsheet and say here ya go people, there's ya slop! My line have more class than that..."

"It'd be competitions. Not just earnings... But the art of composing oneself - out in the streets, you know? Like a cat dogwalk, if you will."

The smug dog returns to all fours and turns away from the six cities, climbing further up the ramp. As he puts one paw in front of the other, the cold concrete beneath him turns to a red, luxurious, soft, woollen carpet. The dog saunters up into the limelight, like his kin so many times before him. He once again turns to face over the six cities with love in his big puppy eyes.

"Dog damn, I've really missed this place."

His eyes roll over the various headquarters... business districts... the graffiti left by generations gone by... The many recent bloodstains still left unattended, unaccounted for and unexplained, in most side streets off Main. The lack of hygiene alone is enough to call for the Geneva Convention. Dog tried his best not to get hung up on it anymore. The wider population seem to have accepted the new order of things. Dog was just here to talk.

"The streets aren't all dead of late. But what are we doing here? We're just going through the motions. Everyone has become a pencil pusher. There's no real thought of action put into the system anymore. Like a type writer. Just mindlessly printing what is input. Click. Click. Click. Click. Click."

"I've heard a couple people say they prefer to run around in the business districts. Why? What is the fascination?" He ponders. "Why can't you come out here? What you hiding?

My line have tried the business district thing. We've had a few businesses ourselves... and we've tried frequenting the businesses... Speaking there... It's not the same. It feels... pre-generated. One-sided. It lacks the third dimension. It doesn't feel... authentic. Or new. But nor do most narrations in the streets, if we're honest about it..." He shrugs.

"No, down boy." He mutters to himself. "Let's give credit where it's due, we have seen some appearances and it's been nice. Hats off to Cadhla and the Traffic Cone for coming out to make their quick regurgitations announcements before scurrying off. That Grin lads doing the Lords work around these streets. I hope he gets fatter than ever."

The dog looks at the time. "Listen... Thanks for coming to hear me yap. Let's pick this up later, yeah? You know where to find me... Sorry, I have to go for a run and this boy does not miss his run!"

He dashes into a huge kennel sat atop the magnificent ramp, one you will see another time, because right now this boy has to run boy run... 

The dog reappeared from his kennel and stood tall on all fours, with his abnormally large chest sticking out and his big blue eyes beaming with happiness. He was in an amazing mood... He'd never felt more alive! This dog was full of hope. He wasn't to be put down immediately after all... He started dreaming... maybe he'd get a full 30... who knows, maybe 40?! days brushing arms with the undergrounds naughtiest, most nefarious faces. The future looked promising. It was time to show everyone his kennel.

He jumped and skipped and frolicked atop his unnecessarily large ramp found in the middle of the streets for all to see and approach. It wasn't just four walls and a roof, this dog had his entire life in this box. It was his box. He was over a day into this life, there was no stopping him now! It was time to celebrate.

"Hello everyone! It's great to see you again... Who'da thought it eh? I didn't think I'd be here, I'll be straight with you..." The dog pats himself down, feeling for holes. "Nope. Not shit. I'm in Detroit, chilling... Same place I've been since I started yapping." He laughs to himself. It probably was really just to himself... He laughs again.

"Maybe it's finally happened. The streets finally died... We all told you it was coming, didn't we?!" His bark blasts out to the furthest reaches of the six cities and echoes back at him. "That's okay... I got my kennel!" The dog jumps up and started skipping around with excitement.

The kennel was large, perhaps the size of an automobiles garage. It stood tall and sat nicely on the gloomy, empty backdrop of the streets with it's crisp, matt black finish. The roof was sharp and the fancy box had no door - obviously - just a flap and one small dog-face-shaped window on the wall opposite the door flap. There was a small picket fence that ran around the property with space between and little torches to keep things from appearing too close to his box and scaring him. All of this sat at the top of small cliff, with just the ramp for access. Dog knew it was a fire hazard. Dog don't care.

Dog aDog Doggo leans into the flap of his box, skipping the hi-fi system in aid of the record player, his preference. He slips on a tune before reappearing back in sight of... anyone that's out there.

He looks down at the ground in front of him and flicks something into the crowd... or distance... or whatever is out there. He flicks a second one. What are they? They look like tiny, bone-shaped cookies... A third flies past you. Do you grab it in time? Surely you didn't grab them all, right? That would be greedy... You allowed others the chance to enjoy a free bone-shaped cookie, I'm sure.

Thank you for not cheating the community.

The dog sits on his hind legs in front of his kennel and looks out over the streets.

"It feels good to be alive, doesn't it? How long do you think I have? Shall we take bets? Don't tell sleepy Joe, he'll get upset."

"Hey, talking of money... I was just thinking. What happened to the hit listing? I was enjoying that. Weren't you guys? Surely? Bit of action, wasn't it?! I wish I had a wallet big enough to rival the whales around here, I'd love to see just how invested these moneymen truly are. Just how much of their wealth are they willing to give to someone elses reign? While they will be remembered as cows to be milked while the real top table is pulling the strings beyond their limited view of things. That's how it happens, you know... Little table at the top... Slightly bigger table just down from that, little bit bigger table... And so on. How big is the table you're at? How many faces are sharing your slice of the pie? How important are you really?"

He takes a sigh.

"You know, so many of my line would shoot me on the spot for coming out and speaking like this about this thing of ours. But that's just the point, isn't it? None of those mobsters really exist anymore. There's just puppets who are mostly too clueless to know what's really going on and a couple pulling the strings who don't care for tradition. But this is what I've learned from my lineage. You can't expect people to fight on your terms. Things are different now. I'll save it for another time. This is a happy occasion. We're here to celebrate life."

The dog darks with glee.

"Alright, I'll get back in my box for now."

Dynamite could hear a dog barking in the distance. As he approached, he saw aDog. He walks up and sees a bunch of cookies thrown toward the crowd and one seems to be bigger than the others. Dynamite picks up the big cookie. Is this a dog treat or an actual cookie? Guess only one way to find out.

He bites the cookie and inside is a special surprise. He puts the pleasant finding into his pocket and looks at aDog.

"What a good boy," Dynamite says, leaving the other "cookies" for others. He pets aDog and gives him a few neck rubs. "But stay a good boy and I'll come back and give you some belly rubs next time I'm in the area."

The doggo wakes from his slumber, slips out of his little fluffy bed and moseys straight over to the record player. A new day had dawned, it was time for a new tune.

He skipped over to the window, excited to see a friendo to play with the doggo! Finally.

He dashed out of the flap and back into view.

"Hello there!" He hops and jumps. He rolls on his back and begins to pants, flapping his paws around helplessly.

"It's so good to see you! Thanks for coming out to see the old dog!" He spins back on to all fours and continues prancing around.

"Oh my dog, oh my dog, oh my dog, I'm so excited!" Imagine a tail going a million lashes a second! Yeah... He don't have a tail, too far. Just imagine a tail."

"You are indeed right, I am a good boy! You've reminded me, I've something I need to do..." The dog turned serious.

"I've got a letter to write to the good mobsters of Philadelphia... It's time a good boy told them about their leader!"

The doggo jets off with excitement.