A bird saddles a stoplight over the highway, calling out, chirping in time and tune to the horns and engines of the vehicles below. Drops feces in the wind that fall by me, panting and hunched. Other avians clutch cables and phone lines against gusts of road-wind. They regard the rubber, metal, and asphalt as soil, bark, and leaf.
This is the natural turning the unnatural into nature.
No voice, no work. For two straight days.
This is still the best affliction ever.
