The Hobo Chronicles: Part II

An old hobo was on the street holding a chihuahua. He looked drunk, nuts, or both. "Come meet Satan!" he yelled, holding up the cute little critter.

"Satan?" I asked.

"Satan." He stated firmly. He held up the dog. It looked at me pleadingly. The poor critter had probably been jostled around by the hobo all day. I reached out to take the dog. It bit my hand off.

"Holy ****!" I decided I'd had enough of hobos for a while.

The end.