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You’re Not A Bird

“Where did the time go?”
    “Where it always goes.”
    “Where is that?”
    “With you.”
    “Why me?”
    “Why anybody? And don’t feel so special it goes with us all.”
    “That’s the same as saying it’s not here. I think you’re making this all up.”
    “I think you’re right.”
    “Don’t talk to me anymore.”
    “Ok I won’t.”
    “Not even a little bit.”
    “Not even one tiny bit.”
    One of them shifts their feet but both forget who. A bird on a branch above eyes something their vision cannot see.
    “What does it see?”
    “How should I know?”
    “Make a guess.”
    “A tree.”
    “Too obvious.”
    “It’s my guess.”
    “That’s hardly a guess.”
    “You think you’re being cute but you’re annoying me.”
    “Everything annoys you.”
    “Well, that’s true.” The bird, still looking far away, shifts it’s head slightly. “Well, what do you guess?”
    He didn’t know how to leave well enough alone. She didn’t know how to leave well enough alone. Neither really knew much of anything and so on and so forth until one of them died.
    “As a bird I see a blade of grass over there on the far end of the park moving a little oddly and I wonder if it is food or a predator and then up at the building directly behind, that old brick building there, I see an old man on the third floor sitting at his kitchen window thinking about how his life got this way, has it been a good run? a bad run? a mix of both of course but he misses the things that were remembers the people that he’s known throughout the years the times he’ll never live through again even the bad ones for they too in memory are quite valuable he wonders what will become of him what is he leaving behind who will remember him?”
    “You see all that?”
    He squinted at the building in the distance. Barely visible windows, too small, too far away, to see anybody in any of them.
    “I can’t see anything from here.”
    “You’re not a bird.”

Geoffrey Uhl graduated from the well respected Snoqualmie-Tuskegee community prison college where he majored in those little wooden nails that hold together horse drawn carriages in the mid 17th century. Though quickly becoming an expert in the field he chose to “do the gooder thing” and went to the plains of Sub-Saharan Africa where he donated several years picking gnats off an elephants behind who just weren’t in the mood to deal with gnats anymore, which, incidentally, turned into a lucrative business netting him hundreds of millions of dollars. He currently lives in San Diego where, quickly realizing that having millions destroyed all meaning to life, he gave it all to a bum who now does absolutely nothing all day. What a sucker, he kinda feels bad for the guy, but then, he was begging for it.