Every night, as I sit in my studio apartment, I hear them. The coyotes. Their laughter echoes through the darkness, mocking me with every cackle. At first, I dismissed it as mere imagination, but their proximity to my window makes it undeniable—they’re laughing at me. But why? What could possibly be so amusing about my life?
Is it my nightly ritual of sage smudging, a desperate attempt to ward off any lingering spirits or malevolent forces. I can’t help but feel a pang of self-consciousness as I wave the smudge around, worried that I might appear effeminate. It’s very difficult to get the smoke everywhere without prancing a little bit, so what choice do I have when faced with the possibility of unseen threats lurking in the darkness?
Is it my Dodge Durango, once a symbol of freedom and adventure, now a relic of neglect? The rust spots and dents tell the story of years gone by, but surely that’s not enough to provoke such amusement from the coyotes lurking in the shadows.
Then there are the tin cans strung up outside my window, a makeshift alarm system to alert me to the presence of the Greys—the extraterrestrial visitors rumored to roam the night. Do the coyotes find humor in my paranoia, in my desperate attempts to defend myself against the unknown?
I even tried to capture some of them, to interrogate them and uncover the source of their amusement. But they proved to be elusive adversaries, quickly turning the tables and chasing me through the streets in a wild pursuit. It was a humbling experience, to say the least.
But now, a glimmer of hope has emerged in the form of Acme—a peculiar company I stumbled upon while watching a documentary about coyotes hunting roadrunners in the desert. Their devices, designed to outsmart even the craftiest of predators, offer a tantalizing opportunity for revenge.
With gadgets and gizmos borrowed from the very creatures that torment me, I am determined to turn the tables on the laughing coyotes outside my window. No longer will I be the butt of their jokes. No longer will I cower in fear at their mocking cries.
For tonight, the hunter becomes the hunted. And as I prepare to unleash Acme’s arsenal against my tormentors, I can’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction. After all, there’s nothing quite like a taste of your own medicine.
So let them laugh, those coyotes lurking in the darkness. Let them revel in their fleeting amusement. For soon, they will learn that they’ve underestimated my resourcefulness—and that there are far worse things than being laughed at in the dead of night.
Mohammed Sinclair
