002/365 08/23/2025

It’s the slow creep of squalor what gets you. You leave the kitchen door open and the chickens get in. And they’re shitting on things. Not much, maybe, but some. And pretty soon that old hound pisses on the floor and everyone just looks at it. You get used to the smell, mostly. Except Granny. She never could, which is why I suppose she left the way she did.