Xander made his way over to the edge of the junkyard and leaned on the fence. It was surprisingly low and rickety. Shouldn't a fence around a junkyard be built higher and sturdier to either protect valuables or keep stupid kids from getting in and getting hurt? At least it held him up and gave him a good view into what looked like a post-apocalyptic world. The junkyard sat in a depression in the ground with wide dirt paths weaving around islands and mountains of car parts. It looked about like how his mind felt - orderly junk. He heaved a sigh and rubbed the back of his head. Why did he feel like this? He wanted to feel better, and he kind of did, but he also felt worse. He felt like he was making progress with Milo, but he also felt worse thinking how Milo seemed to believe he was some kind of abuser. He didn't think he was, but that was an easy mistake to make. Maybe too easy. He refused to tiptoe around Milo and pretend to be something other than the blundering elephant he was, but he didn't want to do anything that actually hurt Milo, either. Why couldn't he have just walked away that first stupid fight or said something? He felt he was in his rights to be annoyed, but Milo didn't know what he was doing and didn't deserve the anger directed at him. And now he said he wanted to forgive and keep trying to be friends, but it sure didn't feel like it. Or maybe Xander was overthinking this whole thing and he should just let it go. Move on!
A sudden deep, hoarse barking growl caught his attention. Xander drew his attention back to the real world in time to see the reason why the owner of the junkyard didn't feel he needed a bigger fence. A heavy-duty dog built like a block came charging toward the fence, stopping just before a shallow ditch dug a couple of feet from the fence. It looked like it could jump the ditch, but instead of doing so, it stood glaring at Xander, hackles up and square head held low as it snarled threateningly. It gave another bark, shifting into a guarding stance. He was an odd-looking mutt, clearly some kind of pit bull or bully breed, with a broad chest and tank-like build at the front and a narrower but still muscular back end. It was hard to tell from the mud, but it seemed to be white and brown, and part of why its head looked so square was its lack of ears and tail. Odder still, a worn-out harness strapped around his barrel chest was tied to an old car tire nearly as wide as it was long. It dragged it around behind it with a surprising amount of ease, but the tire still clearly hampered its ability to jump or run at full speed. Its stood growling and snarling at Xander who stood staring back at it. He didn't think about the fact that he might be teasing the dog or stressing it out, he just watched, puzzled and curious. He'd never seen a genuine junkyard dog before. What an ugly mug.
Voices drew his attention, and he turned to look. A small group of older teens loitered at the other end of the junkyard fence. They hadn't noticed Xander yet, and he was glad of that. He didn't know them well, but he recognized a couple, and he knew them well enough to know they were best avoided. He pushed away from the fence with a final glance toward the dog and started back toward the truck. He'd had his moment. Time to leave.
