That dull clang bothers you. You can't abide by it. It seems to be scraping along the bone marrow of your spine. It's gotta go. That damn coyote better shut the fuck up too. You walk through sparsely wooded spaces. There's a rusted out barb wire fence with its poles all akimbo. There's a long round piece of steel all rusted and tied to the barb wire with a old ripped off piece of denim pants. You pull and twist and the rotten pants rip apart and the clanging has ended for the first time in three and a quarter years. The coyote is still howling. Going solo sound without the eerie drummer.