I fold myself into invisible spaces. Like a cat, my tail forgotten. The man next to me is foam packed, bloated with winter. A crooked old man hand escapes his sleeve and pulls me from my hiding space. He points: “I want to murder those birds.” Other men who are never not drunk barely hold …
the biggest crow gobbled my right eye up.
left, crying and winking
away the abandoned pair of bright orange socks
bread crumb trailed right to Radio Shack.