At night the city reverts to the dogs. They who spend their days yawning in the sun and avoiding the death carrying rickshaws at night become the true owners of the city.

Men slept, and through their dreams they could hear the dull barking and sniping of night’s possessors of the city. The whole cacophonous mess of the dogs’ world taking the natural place of barking rickshaws and biting motor bikes.

Dull days carry everybody, the dogs and men. Both share the heavy, awkward heat. They seep through it, like paste.

At night, dogs run the city.