BIRDS AT NIGHT
Birds looked down from building tops all through the night. They watched humans scurrying about, not as plentiful or as agile as ants but leaving more to eat. Humans were a great source of food, thought they weren’t edible themselves.
Until they were dead; then it was different. You could tell when one was about to die; it looked like a baby bird in its nest, straining up, mouth drawn open, waiting for mama to drop a worm. But it it was straining for air, not a worm. The birds could hear the faintest last exhale, then it was time.