While I was drawing this, a man leading a small, rectangular-shaped, beige dog on short legs approached me and began to talk.
‘Hi,’ the man said. ‘I think I saw you a few blocks over a few weeks back, while I was walking Loafa, here.’
‘Maybe,’ I said to the man as, ready for a break anyway, I stood up and removed my headphones.
‘What’s this all about?’ the man asked, sweeping his arm wide, as if pointing out prizes in a game show.
I told the man about the hundred houses, and explained the stories, telling him he would probably feature in this one.
‘Oh!’ he said, laughing. ‘If you don’t get a better story than me?’
‘Yes!’ I said, and I laughed back at him.
‘Well,’ said the man, ‘my story is that I have just finished cancer treatment, and I can’t walk too far now because I shit 20 to 30 times a day.’
I stopped laughing, but the man continued to smile.
‘Prostate cancer,’ he said. ‘Something like 67% of men get it, but mine wasn’t a killer, and I can still pee okay.’
‘I am very happy to hear that,’ I told the man.
The man put his hand out.
‘My name is Dan,’ he said, ‘and I was a Culver City Policeman for 30 years and I loved my job. I used to run marathons, but because of this little problem, I have to stay close to home.’
‘Terrible, just terrible.’ I said, shaking his hand.
‘Yeh,’ he said, ‘but me and Loafa here still walk every day, 3 miles at least.’
Both of us looked down at Loafa, who was sitting almost on the tip of my shoe.
Then we stood there for a while, not saying anything, until the man said, ‘You know why we named her Loafa?’
‘Why?’ I said.
‘Because she looks like a loafa bread.’ The man said, looking down at his pet and laughing.
A Hundred Houses 