Mudminnow River and basically, i wanna know

avoidant, twitchy, whittaker had woken up on the wrong side of the bed and the whole day was destined to be ruined. he angrily rubs out his eyes until he sees nothing but dark fuzz, but the world slowly comes back to him.
just because he could, he changes course to walk into the riverbed, impulsive like a car swerving to drive through a puddle. the air is still cold. winter was stubborn as hell this year, but the chill helps him wake up.
he squints— up in the distance was a small grey coywolf-looking thing. and he doesn't see him yet, but another larger man even further ahead. just because he could, he changes course to approach the silver stranger, impulsive like touching a stranger on the shoulder in the metro to let him know he has dandruff on his suit. hello, he calls out, uncertain and tired, before realising he had no idea where to push the conversation after.