The Big Mud: New Westminster

I was returning equipment to my rehearsal studio after a late night gig.  The space was on Front Street next to the Army and Navy department store and the entrance looked straight out onto the river and the ancient oily dock at the east end of Westminster Quay.  This was before the city built a park and retaining wall and obstructed the view.  It was raining but the parking garage above the street kept me dry when not running to the open door of the studio.  A van of gear usually takes about twelve to fourteen minutes to unload.  In this instance, I was alone, and it took me slightly longer, maybe twenty minutes.  Distracted by the rhythm of hauling guitars and drums up a dark stairway alone, I barely noticed the coyote.  The animal was coming from the left, from behind Brooklyn Pub and the Buy & Sell building; his spindly legs were slow and deliberate.  I didn't understand where it came from as there wasn't a great deal of brush or even trees around.  Just a tugboat yard and some rusted freight barges.  The coyote looked at me, crossed the road and headed through some greasy mud to the rail tracks.  It followed the tracks as far as the first break in chain-link fence along the river, before ducking through.