HOWL
I know what
you're thinking. I can see it from here, in your body language; it's a
dead giveaway, the way you sit on your haunches, the way you throw your
head back and wail to the night sky just to get my attention: you're
thinking I'm a female coyote over here on this nearby desert rise.
Wrong.
Immediate appearances can be deceiving; just a howl or two ago
I was a drunken former high-powered financial analyst staggering across a snowy street in Baltimore; next thing I know, you think I'm a coyote. Well think
again.
Actually, you should think again, because if I know anything
about baying at the moon, you were a powerful politician a few howls
ago, am I right? I thought so. Shape isn't everything, is it.
Say,
it's really something out here at night, don't you think? All at once
the moon just makes you want to cut loose in a way you never did in
finance or politics... I just can't help myself! And the smells out
here... fantastic!
You know, it's funny... there I was, all those
years, climbing the career ladder with everything I had, when all I
really wanted to do was HOWL!
