So, whilst the war rages on in Iraq and the people of New Orleans struggle to rebuild and Australia sends relief to a devastated coastline and Milosevic is buried and, well, the world turns, New Yorkers are obsessed with this coyote.
Let me rephrase: I am obsessed with this coyote.
There’s a coyote! In Central Park. Apparently, this isn’t the weirdest thing in the ENTIRE world – there was a similar incident in 1999. Still and all, there’s a coyote roaming around Central Park consistently evading capture by whole swarms of police and Parks Department people. What’s much more amusing than actually reading the relatively mundane articles about this coyote where everyone tries desperately to avoid using the word WILY but can’t, in the end, and cave to the inexorable pressure to use the word WILY but then giggle moronically to themselves after they do (Channel 7 reporters, I’m looking at YOU) is actually discussing the various ways a fucking COYOTE got onto the island of Manhattan.
Because the news and articles keep suggesting he came from Westchester, and I’m thinking, Metro North? Surely not. He’d have to leash himself. Henry Hudson Bridge? That toll can be seriously prohibitive when you’ve got no pockets. Maybe a cab? Oooh, rollerskates! The news keeps saying he might have swum across the Harlem River but this is obviously a very urbane and sophisticated coyote, surely he’d know better than to swim in a body of water for which you need tetanus shots before even entering. Plus, I don’t know, THE CURRENTS.
This would be a good time to make a joke about the other definition for the word coyote, namely the human border smugglers. Instead, I’ll just sit here and giggle about a coyote riding Metro North. Coffee? Paper? Umbrella? Coyote.