Nobody in Manhattan is having a particularly swell seventh of August this year. Its way too hot, the subways are running late...and then, just before nine in the morning, a heavily-armed, well-organized militia descends upon the city with guns, explosives, and a seemingly indiscriminate bloodlust. Not a swell day to be a New Yorker, to say the least...but an especially un-swell day to be Jairzinho Navias.

Thats not just because Jairzinhos having problems in his personal life (he is), or because hes more than a little hungover today (not unrelated). Its mostly to do with the fact that hes a professional dogwalker. Which means hes got nine dogs strapped to his waist when half the city - including the dogs home - blows up. Which, in turn, leaves him with a choice: ditch the dogs and find a way back to his place in Brooklyn...or keep hold of the leashes, and find a way to lead the dogs to safety with him?

The dogs, of course, dont give two squats about Jairzinhos big choice, or his failing relationship. Theyve got their own dramatic little doggy disputes to worry about; Whys the walk route so jumbled up? Whys Ducky being such a dingus today? Does Barmit like Meatball more than Kelso? And most importantly, what does all of this mayhem mean for their Breakfast? Its only a matter of time, as Jairzinho tries to wrestle his Giants off the island and out of harms way, that some of the dogs start to wonder if their most pressing problem might not be the agitated monkey-man at the other end of the leash...

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Jairzinhos Curbside Giants

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