Adam winked at Dog.
Dog ran through the hole in the hedge. And, shouting clearly, loudly and distinctly, “Dog, you bad dog! Stop! Come back here!” Adam squeezed through after him.
Something told him that something was coming to an end. Not the world, exactly. Just the summer. There would be other summers, but there would never be one like this. Ever again.
Better make the most of it, then.
If you want to imagine the future, imagine a boy and his dog and his friends. And a summer that never ends.
And if you want to imagine the future, imagine a boot… no, imagine a sneaker, laces trailing, kicking a pebble; imagine a stick, to poke at interesting things, and throw for a dog that may or may not decide to retrieve it; imagine a tuneless whistle, pounding some luckless popular song into insensibility; imagine a figure, half angel, half devil, all human…
Slouching hopefully towards Tadfield…
Good Omens, Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett