Saturday, March 08, 2008

79/1,000,000

“The Ungrateful Bastards”

Most of the time I’d sit on the hood of my car and watch the sun sink. A piece of a bird would sometimes take flight from the rafters of the overpass—feathers the color of shovels. The overpass was behind me. The birds would make these elongated loops over my right shoulder to the I-95 sign (my extreme left). The white ones, I remember, loved to rummage through the trash. They were particularly fond of fast-food sandwich-lettuce. There were a few fast-food restaurants on the other side of the overpass. After work I’d pick up half a bag of burgers and throw them the toppings. I’d been working at the airport shuttling the elderly and handicapped from gate to gate on a modified military-style jeep. The close proximity of the gates allowed me to be slightly inebriated on the job. To make small talk, I’d mention the dreams I had where I rode on the backs of gulls and goshawks. Most of them were ungrateful bastards. The birds, I mean.

transcribed from notebook 3/8 am

No comments: