Sin Dog

That's what the label says. Sin Dog. But the can is small, unremarkable, undistinguished, with no other markings to indicate what it is, just a small tin or aluminium cylinder with a paper covering, blue label in a white circle, can itself filled with inspecific something, vaguely heavy and not so vaguely sloshy. The paper is faded and peeling a bit at the edges, but the metal itself looks new. It has sat here for awhile, it would seem, in this vaguely lit cupboard, and only now open to the outside world once more. In this dry region, there is no telling how long it may have been, perhaps a few weeks, perhaps years, perhaps longer.

But now there is a moth on it, fluttered in with the open door, or perhaps entered previously through some other cranny or crevice. The moth does not seem particularly happy with this vague and faded can, but it does seem interested, poking and prodding at the creases with unfurled proboscis and antennae alike, seeking something, some residue left on the can, some lost smell, perhaps the paper, or the ink, or the glue, or perhaps the Sin Dog itself, locked away for the indeterminate span in this indeterminate place in that indeterminate can...

The moth, though, the moth wants it. It wants to know what's there, and it would be wrong not to humour the poor dear, not to see what is inside, what the Sin Dog really is, would it not? So yes. Open it. Spare the curiosity and the poor lepidoptid's toes and open it!

At first the can resists, but it opens easily, but the moth is dislodged in the process, and without further ado, flutters off into the dim.