TOTY coyote '25
on yotes and durao // fav trick of the year
They’re oil infused and covered in keef and moving between the moon and its bright sister on a beach giving Elden Ring we walk in the reflection. Oil and keef curl and I curse — just a lil, bit, bb; the nasty stuff won’t come out for days now — how its like lipgloss on a DrPepper can and doesn’t die as nice I like.
Good high though, we walk in it through the dark into scattered headlights and coyote yips, we hunt owls — did you know they sound like they do in cartoons?
I die.
We watch Durao, only Hardbody Interlude, and I’m still so high I watch ~it~ again the next morning unsure if it was real bc I was truly fucking deeply on-my-carnivorous-plants not sure, sluts. Like, it must not have been, right, bc the leap it took in lunacy – I have bdp bb, I can say that — was just kind of like … it just didn’t make sense, things were skipped things that should have happened first, should. have. happened. first. Just ... Like it must not have been switch, right?, must not have that lil cherry on top, fast pop key bump kick cocaine maraschino kiss just right down the most famous four. But there it was, flashing through a woozy little part that’s for real almost nothing but hammers, mist-wandering giants, and just sschlut!, a knife like sympathy right through me.
I die.
On the dirt behind the recycling bins and back up against the Arroyo Burro, a taste of wild to gaze and blow smoke into held back by chainlink and the light’s reach. The yote family is in there; so too we fucking bet are the owls, but we think the owls laying low in the unseasonable cold which almost makes the oil infused and keef kissed pre-rolls pass for our breath. Anyway, in this sort of clay-floored oasis likely dating back a few decades with a view of what California was to gaze into, I see a portapotty.
This, I tell them earnestly, purring in drab and plaid, is a fucking next. Level. Move. Like someone thought of their fellow smokers’ needs. But who pays for it or, like … handles it?
Actually, it’s there because of the goats, they tell me. Goats had been brought to the Arroyo Burro, let through the gate right there, to give it a revitalizing chomp. So while they’re devouring/engineering back there, the shepherd who came with them — I fucking instantly wanted to be a shepherd for a moment — lived in a van sort of off to the side; the chemical toilet was for him and the goats ate the past.
Right around the time the coyotes moved in, they say.
