Craving the Rot

There it lies, silver flat and belly up. The fish (what kind? I should have paid more attention in biology), thrown up by the tide, gathers flies on the sand not far from where I sit baking in the Mississippi sun.Before I've finished a page in my book, a fight breaks out. A seagull, having claimed the fish as 'his' in the tacit pecking order of animalia, is upset, offended because another bird is closing in on his lunch."But, but, but," he cries. "But, but, but."Bird Number Two … [Read more...]