You jump the fence with more clumsiness than grace, scraping your leg in the process. Your dog is tangled in the strings of Graham’s guitar, panting and wagging his tail like nothing’s. wrong. The cat has climbed up the shelf and watches the scene with wide eyes.

Graham steps out, one hand on his head, the other pointing at the mess. His favorite guitar the one you've seen more times than you can count lies on the ground, split in two.

“Dumbass dog?” he spits, glaring at you. “Now what? You gonna buy me a new one?”