Like actors picked for the wrong scene, we used to live in Bel-Air. Posh, quiet, well-groomed Bel-Air. We were rental scavengers and the friction between our lifestyle and surroundings was always apparent. Not so dissimilar from the glowing-eyed wild coyote, equally scary and scared, who would show up at our courtyard entrance - reminding Bel-Air that it still coexisted with natural worlds that preceded it, and suggesting itself to us as Los Angeles' most unsung mascot.
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