That Dog

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Frank settled down in the Valley and he hung his wild years on a nail that he drove through his wife’s forehead. He sold used office furniture out there on San Fernando Road and assumed a 30,000 dollar loan at fifteen and a quarter percent put a down payment on a little two bedroom place. His wife was a spent piece of used jet trash. Made good Bloody Mary’s. Kept her mouth shut most of the time. Had a little Chihuahua named Carlos that had some kind of skin disease and was totally blind. They had a thoroughly modern kitchen. Self-cleaning oven, the whole bit. Frank drove a little sedan. They were so happy. One night Frank was on his way home from work. He stopped at the liquor store. Picked up a couple of Mickey’s Big Mouths. Drank ‘em in the car, and with a Shell station he got a gallon of gas in a can. Drove home, doused everything in the house. Torched it. Parked across the street laughing. Watching it burn. All Halloween orange and chimney red.
Then Frank put on a top forty station. Got on the Hollywood Freeway and headed North. Never could stand that dog.

-Tom Waits, "Frank's Wild Years"