The small furry orange fox was — by all accounts — master of his unique niche.

He would skulk in the pre-dawn darkness, seeking just about anything he could get in his mouth. It was very fortunate that this particular fox found this particular spot.

The spot was a food stand, not in the modern sense.

Not a mobile truck or cart.

It was a food stand in the traditional sense with a wooden facade, brick support, and a concrete foundation.

The aesthetic was wanting, but this wasn’t the kind of place you went to for aesthetic appeal.

I don’t believe a fox or foxes have an aesthetic preference. There might be something either in their DNA or RNA that causes them to choose one thing over another, but if we start to take those things into account, we lose the thread.

The thread being, the fox was lucky to find the food stand.

The stand was called Food 2 Go. That tells you all you need to know about the fare it offers.

There were two picnic benches by the side of the stand, for patrons to sit at while they ate. There was a recycling can and a garbage can by the ordering window.

The fox was not interested in either of those things.

Despite the relative laziness of a name like Food 2 Go, the stand’s owners were fairly responsible and would empty the “trash bins” at the end of each business day. Which means the dumpster behind the foodstand was a treasure trove for the fox.

I will say a veritable treasure trove here. It is apropos because of the nature of perception.

Food scraps, bits of human debris. That unique mix of the synthetic, the biological, and the natural was all contained in this dumpster, and although the fox might not have a concept of luck or good fortune, he could recognize patterns — to some extent.

He knew some patterns were more beneficial to his survival than others.

So the fox would wait until it was very dark, and then he would wait longer.

He would wait until the artificial and natural light had been gone for a long time.

I say wait, because that is the only word I know for it.

The fox doesn’t know wait.

The fox might know desire deferred, but not wait.

The fox might know an odor of a safer chance. The fox might sense moisture on the right side of the lichen or might have a paw pulled by the moon toward something.

The fox doesn’t have a clockwork heartbeat.

The Troglodyte, on the other hand, did have a clockwork heartbeat.

It had a schedule like a train or a bus. It was meant to be in a spot at a specific — yet arbitrary time. It was always aware of its relationship to some sense of “supposed to be.”

The fox knew “supposed to be,” but he called it something else. Not that it was a word to the fox, but a sense. Nature is probably the closest we can come.

The toad was supposed to hop and croak(Troglodyte thought)

The toad, by its nature, would flee from my understanding of me(fox thought)

The Troglodyte was supposed to be asleep.

The Troglodyte, by its nature, was not supposed to be near the dumpster — Now —

What happened next outside Food 2 Go is a strange occurrence.

Something mundane in that it happens every day somewhere, but also something fantastic in a metaphysical sense.

The mind of the fox and the mind of the Troglodyte had a synchronicity in thought. A shared synapse or biological nerve response. A weird moment that was neither fight nor flight.

The fox and the Troglodyte share more than they would like to admit, but for a brief moment, they shared something rare.

The Troglodyte, despite having no natural advantage and being nearly blind in the dark, saw the fox first.

The Troglodyte’s lizard brain was ready, but still restrained by the prefrontal cortex.

The Troglodyte thought in the front part of its brain, “that fox will surely see me standing here, he will flee. He will sense me or smell me and cease its approach.”

The Troglodyte was wrong.

The fox, with all his guile and natural gifts, failed to do what he should by nature. He was after the treasure trove and had almost forgotten himself. He sauntered up to the dumpster with a self-confident ease. He was nearly prancing, as a fox is wont to do.

A trot, if you will.

It was in this moment that both the fox and the Troglodyte shared a thought, a quick muscle twitch, something ancient and forever, but also new and rare.

At the same time, both creatures thought — with mind and body — their respective versions of,

“I am closer to this — other — than I should be.”

With that shared thought over, both creatures went back to the expectations of their station in the natural order of things.

The Troglodyte reaffirmed its dominance.

It planted its feet, made itself larger through illusion, and stood firm.

The Troglodyte did all this because it was supposed to.

The fox fled.

He abandoned desire or want in the interest of survival. He retreated some distance and softly shook himself til calm returned. He assessed and began to intuit another plan of action.

It can be argued that both the fox and the Troglodyte were acting out of illness or disease.

The Troglodyte wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Blame anxiety or insomnia, blame nicotine or addiction, but the Troglodyte was out of place.

The fox could blame a brain parasite, simple desperation, or rabies.

Both were acting “wrong” in their own way, but it made for an interesting moment.

There was also a third party present.

This party is always present.

Call it Eshu, Saint Francis, Sun Wukong, or whatever you wish.

This third party saw the whole thing play out, and they exhaled.

It was not quite a laugh or a sigh.

It was a gentle outward breath.