Dogs are always the happiest

On Monday, the city had risen from its ashes as usual.
A babalawo planted his consultation right in the middle of the street.
A man stood before a door, clearly carrying the complex of a soldier—but from another era.
Water’s children were filling tanks with the precious liquid, so that the next day, after the collapse, thirst would not be so cruel.
“I’m still waiting for you”, I told myself, and carried on without desire, but with the certainty that I must keep searching for something.
The devotee of Saint Lazarus had travelled more than a thousand leagues in his sleep, and weariness sat upon his body, silencing the voice of his bell.
Dogs are always the happiest.

This is my entry for the #Monomad Challenge.