Velociworld

THE GAME CONTINUES APACE

I walked out of the office building Thursday morning at 8:15, for my first smoke of the day. And what did I see on the granite breezeway? A bird's head, cleanly severed. Blood still trickling from the neck. A most unnerving sight.

I confess I could not identify the bird. A songbird, sure, maybe a wren, or warbler of some sort. I paced the area, and found its body about fifteen feet away. Very odd indeed.

No sign of death by window crashing, or hit by the bus. And I did see a deranged hawk repeatedly slam into the glass windows a few days before, enraged at its own reflection. 20 minutes that hawk attacked its reflection. Bam! Bam! Bam! That hawk hated itself, what it perceived to be its enemy. Very strange times.

Back to the wren. That was a queer thing. The sever was too clean. Knifelike. Even the Greyhound bums could not be suspected of this, because they would have roasted the frail, bony thing over a drum.

I was thinking there might be jihadist birds out there. Can't stand a songbird. Decapitate it to bring the vision of the Caliphate closer. I shudder at the idea, and it seems foolhardy, but I'm casting a weather eye on the bluejays. I don't trust those cocksuckers. Never have. Someone has blood on his hands, and it sure and hell isn't the cardinals.

P.S. I made the Korean butt sweeper bury that head and torso in the viburnum. Then said a requiem.