September 7, 2011 11:44 AM
Posted by Jei D. Marcade
Last night as I walked home from dinner with a friend, my boxed leftovers in hand, I glanced up to see a radio tower teeming with what looked like hundreds of tiny birds. Yet more flocks swooped and wheeled in an elegantly choreographed aerial ballet, their flight paths weaving around and intersecting with one another until it seemed that they would blot out the sky entirely.
As I gazed up in wonder at those feathered figures drawing broad swathes across the dusky blue-gray canvas above, it occurred to me that I could hear a soft pattering all around me, like that of rain.
But it was not rain.
'TWAS NOT RAIN.
Away I scuttled!
But just when I dared imagine myself safely beyond the radius of avian peril, I felt a warm splat upon my thumb, and upon my lunch for the morrow.
“Oh, shit,” I cried.
Then cast about in mortified horror to verify that no one stood within earshot of that unintended pun.
(My life is exciting.)