The English Coyote

I can still see my friend.

He was, I believe, a gay man. This was the late eighties. I hope he is okay.

I imagine him out on his mount enjoying the better riding trails in the moneyed section of Houston, Texas. The temperature is in the mid-nineties and he is in a starched shirt, red wool jacket, and knee-length boots.

I am all of twenty-five and a perfect creep.

He assures me it is not as insufferably hot as you might think, in these jodhpurs.

I just smile.


© Joann Farias 2023