Drawn By The Scent Of Death And Decay, Coyotes Prowl Wrigley Field

Night. The pack slips silently out of the den, drawn by an unnameable urge deep in the midbrain. The streets are deserted, the twolegs having retreated to the safety of their dwellings. The world belongs to them now. The waxing moon rises above the low red brick houses of Wrigleyville. Light enough to see and not be seen. It is a hunting moon. More »