like in many cities, we have seagulls, though the nearest sea is 150 miles away. they can feed on virtually anything, including the garbage of a landfill – as seen on discovery. they spend their nights perched on a crane, across the street, but they don’t sleep much. i think it’s because of the city lights. they often quarrel, but you can’t really hear them until it’s somehow quiet, very late. when they do, it’s awful, like wheezy geese out of their minds. when it’s a little softer, then
a car with a silent engine passes, and the tires sound like small waves on a beach. and the seagulls let you dream. if you close your eyes, it’s like 150 miles away, before dawn. the last cigarette and the coffee grounds at the bottom of the cup feel like the first smoke and the first sip, when everybody else is still sleeping. thank you, seagulls, i’d get out on the balcony and throw the butt, if it weren’t already enough litter for you and for the city. and mosquitoes might come in.
or perhaps i should. in exchange for your cries, you deserve the illusion of a firefly.