Someone is rebuilding the wreck of a house across the street. Busy with hammering and sawing by day, it’s a silent and dark lot by night. Near midnight a fire engine pulls out of the station on the corner, siren screaming. Instantly a wild and dissonant chorus of coyote yelps and yips and howls explodes from behind the fence, four curs’ worth. Absolutely beautiful in its utter lack of domestication, it makes a mockery of the screaming saxophone in here on the stereo. The saxophonist seems trapped by syncopation, the coyotes sound utterly free. The harmonies aren’t exactly working, but their chorus grows silent just in time for the bass solo, and as the darkness settles the bassist begins to explore.

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