t was the circle.
A perfect, barren, ugly ring had been carved into the hard ground around the wooden post, ten feet wide and worn down to dirt so packed it looked almost polished.
No grass grew there.
No weeds had survived there.
No living thing had been allowed to move beyond that radius long enough for the earth to remember softness.
The pit bull stood at the edge of that circle when I arrived, silent and watching.
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