Before you start a bar brawl, look around and make sure there’s at least one person in the room guaranteed to have your back when shit really kicks off.
May it please you to know that the good Knight-Commander, on a tour of his holdings in that part of the city known to many as Laurel Heights, did pause to make his fairest assay of the available sunlight in the area and, after proper consideration, pronounce it most satisfactory indeed.
Search the harness and you’ll find a business card that says:
FREELANCE ROBBERY CONSULTANT
"All crime, all the time"
Break In * Take Stuff * Get Paid
But the contact information will be too smeared to read, and you’ll wonder forever after if it was just a prop for the first part of some elaborate scam.
And then there’s that one dog whose entire internal monologue consists of four words:
"Hey buddy, whatcha doin’?"
Article 47, section 5 of the bylaws decrees that on days when the king (or queen)’s throne goes mobile and the royal retinue is compelled to travel, the kingsguard (or queensguard) must be arrayed in a force no less than two, and as always must remain ever-watchful at all times for threats to the king (or queen) — but neither are they required to match in color, be it of leash or of fur. Look, that’s what it says right here. It’s in the bylaws! Get your own copy, then.
All we ask for in this life is someone we can come home to on a rainy day who’ll sit by the table while we eat our tomato soup & grilled cheese and be perfectly content with our mere presence. Or that’s all I ask for, at least. Look, can I rent your dog is what I’m gettin’ at. I’ve got twenty bucks right here.
You’d better come back later for your daily dose of forest wisdom, kid. Moro saw some shit back in the day and hasn’t really worked through it yet.