Life of a Bird

Six scraping idiots dragging their terrible sandals along the concrete. Tank tops don't fit, shorts don't fit, their language doesn't fit. Five jet skis spin in asshole circles, crashing into their own waves. Their fists pump in the air, there's little concern for the boats around them waiting to enter the harbor. An old white man passes me on a contemplative bicycle. That certainly sounds like modern R&B swooning from his pocket radio. I'm wearing jeans and a T-shirt, I'm comfortable. It is a motley crew.

A seagull is on the concrete edge that separates us from the waves. He landed there sometime after I sat down. He looks back and forth, studying the water. Looking for something, someone, another full. Maybe I'm giving it too much credit.

Cigarette smoke is coming from another cyclist. He is determined to break even. How am I supposed to clear my head with his secondhand nonsense? The water looks surreal, if you stare at it long enough you can't comprehend it. Waves don't break, they're crystal blue, no white. I wish I had enough money for a boat. A big boat. I'd invite my friends out. We'd all be tan and beautiful.

What is this bird doing? It must be lost. It certainly looks lost, it looks the way I look when I'm lost. If he weren't lost wouldn't he have flown away by now? I don't think he's taken a single step since he landed. He just stands there, darting, left to right, left to right and back again.

There is another old man, however, and he smells of pipe smoke. Now this I can get behind. It's the history of it all, the time it takes to pack, the match involved. There is romance, and as long as there is romance you can elevate just about anything. There's a cute girl over there. I won't say a word and our paths will never cross again, scientific laws be damned.

The gull starts to walk away and another lands to take its place. There are twenty feet apart now, mirror images, looking out and looking back and forth. They stand and look out over the water. Is this what happens? What is it they've lost? Am I projecting too many complications, too much intelligence? I've seen these things eat garbage. Still, there must be more than that. This must be the life of a bird.

I get up. I walk away. Every twenty feet there is another gull, head darting back and forth, left to right, back and forth. The shadows are here now. There is so much lost in the water. The boats, they're waiting to be let in.