"I done found me a drinkin' partner," a piece of old sea glass said to a scruffy mutt.

The hairball hound had wandered up to the stoop sheepishly, and offered a timid tail wag in a hello's lieu. "Buddy," said Muddy (the name of the shard in question), "I feel exactly the same way." The setting sun married the troubled fellow's kind sentiment to the stray's hopeful plight—and it did so with an orange slick; the sky's palette was all marigolds with a dab of sticky marmalade (added for sweetness).

The dog buried his lump of coal nose in a bowl of sloppy people food. Meanwhile, drink in hand, the troubled one recounted those troubles. A teenager's broken heart was cast as drama then and comedy now. His grandparents, wise and patient, gave lessons and he gave impertinence. But, he became keener to give those same lessons himself, especially as the years slipped by. It all came and went: homes, money, places, and—worst of all—people. But, he explained to the dog, if you loved it all then, truly, it was nothing to fret over. "Love the homes, the money, the places, but—most of all—love the people." He ruffled the dog's shaggy head as he recalled the dogs of his youth.

Those dogs, as far as he remembered them, were all sweeter than that marmalade sky.

"Gosh, I wanna see them again."