I’m standing halfway down the block, smoking a cigarette, when I see the coyotes. I know the landlords know I smoke, and they’ve never said anything about it, but sometimes the wife landlord does this shallow cough thing when she sees me, and I’m never sure if she’s being passive-aggressive or just has a scratchy throat, so I always move down the sidewalk in front of that house that’s never finished being built. This is the first time I’ve seen coyotes up close, and I’m surprised that I can identify them right away and don’t just think they are regular skinny dogs. There are three of them, padding down the middle of the street in a V formation. They hear me exhale and stop, and the one at the top of the V—the leader, probably, because it’s the thickest and ...