Coyote (![]() ![]() @ 2009-05-10 13:51:00 |
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Entry tags: | ahmeto-lela-okya, coyote, iktomi, onatah, raven, silver fox |
Who: Coyote and America's native old gods.
What: A reunion with good friends and good food.
Where: Roadside restaurant on Route 430, just outside of Jamestown.
When: Sunday arvo.
Warnings: Alcohol, flirtation, eating too fast, all the things that come with.
It's warm in the diner, the way he likes it. Of course it's a diner, because he hasn't eaten in, like, an hour, and it's high time he did.
Calling the others here carries with it the hope that it won't be on his dime. One of the girls will be a sweetheart and get the bill, from what he remembers. They're all a bit fuzzy in his head, but he will know them when he sees them, even if they look sleek and sharp and new. Everything is so new, and he just counts his lucky, foul-tasting stars that he's a god of change.
And he's back—another new thing, a blip on the radar coasting towards old pals and watering holes. Back from the dead and obscurity (which is as good as dead), and it feels amazing, or at least better than a lot of other things.
He moseys on into the place, a cowboy coming home to the range, thumbs hooked through the belt loops of his jeans in lieu of an actual belt. Winking candidly at the country-western theme, he chooses the booth with the steer skull mounted above it, getting comfy against the ripped brown leather and stretching his long legs under the table.
He stretches once more until the muscles in his back unlock, and when he's done he throws his head back and howls. It's an invitation that's probably in bad taste, but it carries far until it becomes laughter, loud and barking, typical coyote.
A nearby waitress looks at him like he'll fit right in with the decor. Three in the afternoon and already drunk.