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To Justin Wilson's previous pieceA lot of dogs the dogs offer nothing of an intimidating bark as I enter the empty lot of orange soju tents vacant behind dripping flaps they do as they do thinking they have something to protect the corner shack that is their home a few boards of haphazard construction bowls before them with empty stomachs not being satisfied by what the drizzel doles out to any old beggar even to those whose mangy coat could now care less having already drank its fill the one who knows something the others don't sits quiet and alone eyes revealing hopeless longing to see a better lot in life no longer under the meager shelter of rusty siding his poignant stares are unbroken by cold shivers while the others expend valuable energy blindly protecting all they are aware of
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