Fat, white-bellied birds, hop along the wires crisscrossing the backyard, chirping. Children, unwilling to get dressed and go to school, holler across the alleyway. Coyote sips his now-cold coffee and tries to remember the whole song from the couple of bars that keep playing in his head.
He crushes a cigarette in the ashtray and thinks about breakfast, about getting ready, about making his way to work. It’s still early though, he doesn’t have to be there for another two hours, but needs the time to mentally prepare.
The sun creeps up over the abandoned factories to the east.