Gus braces himself to light the Coleman stove. “I should have paid more than one ruble for it,” he mutters as he rubs his sore arm. But when he saw them being sold from a van outside the Burlington Coat Factory he just had to have one. It was a great tool for cooking his dragon sandwiches.

Poaching dragons was a misdemeanor for which the commissioners would levy a big fine, if they caught him. The commissioners preferred to stay at the estuaries, where they could give themselves airs and use an indoor potty. Gus stays in the dense growth inland, where he singly tracks each dragon. It is a metaphysical moment as he comes face to face with his quarry. The commissioners have never held an inquest into his activities, but they recruited him to find other dragon-slayers.

Some day Gus hopes to live in an ivory tower, and write poetry with meter.

Edit: Whoops! Forgot to add that this is a writing challenge issued by LDH here.