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man picked it up and looked on the front for the sender, but the only name that he found was his own, Paul-Henri Salamano. Seeing his own name written on that piece of parchment made him stop a moment and ponder its origin. He couldn't remember his parents as they had both died when he was young. The people at the orphanage called him by his surname only as had everyone in his life. It was shocking to the old man to see his first name written, he felt a connection to his parents in seeing it and slowly caressed the letters. Then, just as suddenly as his memories had come, he shrugged them off and threw the letter in the garbage without bothering to open it.

Salamano grabbed the leash that hung on a nail by the door, and, upon hearing the jingle of metal, the old dog came running his tail wagging happily behind. With this, the two set off only their morning walk.

Their journey had been the same for years: down the two flights of stairs, make a right out the door, walk to the corner (where the baker happily waved everyday, yet got no response), walk to the church (where they never stopped to worship), back around the block (where they stopped for a moment to gaze at the ocean and people on the beach), through the door, up the two flights of stairs, and back home.
Salamano sat on his old couch and the old dog sat next to him. Salamano hated the couch. It was torn in places, the stuffing was coming out, and the springs hurt his back and forced him to adjust constantly to remain comfortable. As he sat on the couch with his hand on the old dog's head he noticed something. He had not seen his nagging neighbor Mersault at all through the morning. Normally he would have seen him twice already, once if he was lucky, but never had Mersault failed to show his face.

Grateful for this turn of events a small crack of a grin crept across Salamano's otherwise blank face. With this Salamano got up and prepared lunch for himself. He opened the refrigerator and noticed that all he had left was a few slices of bologna and on the counter was two slices of bread. Not one for interacting with people this happened to Salamano every few weeks; tomorrow he would be forced to stop at the store to pick up more food. Salamano made his sandwich and sat at his little table to enjoy his last meal of the day. As he took his first bite he heard a whimper and looked down to find the old dog giving him the same heart warming stare that occurred at any meal time. Normally Salamano would have shrugged this off, but the absence of his neighbor had put him in an oddly good mood. Salamano took out a piece of bologna and placed it on the floor for his one true friend.

The rest of the day was uneventful as the two went about their business. At seven, the two set out for their nightly walk and returned home half an hour later. It was nearly eight thirty when Salamano crawled into bed. As he lay there, his thoughts returned to his childhood. He tried to think of his parents, but the first thing he could recall was the children he grew up with in the orphanage. A cool wind blew and sent a shiver down Salamano's spine. He pulled his covers up further, rolled onto his side, shut his eyes, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

Contact me for Chapter two and the continuation of the story...

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