The concrete steps yawn above, the faint blush of dust in the air. There is the click of a shutting door, and the rapid breaths of a wounded dog. It is collarless, but its throat is branded. It’s four flights up, and the animal leaves a trail of blood with it as it walks, in the shape of delicate clovers— and then, a leg up, stepping, and the steady climb begins. The vibrant overhead lights click and flutter. There is the sound of claws against the pavement. 

At the top, it paws at the handle of the door.

It is unable to whine.