WARMTH AND SOMETHING GOOD TO EAT

It's a pity that turkey vultures cannot read. If they could, I would hold up a sign when I'm waiting for the bus back to the city saying that they should come with me, and when we get home, I would give them cups of tea and plates of buttered toast. Because though I enjoy watching them soar over the freeway, I know it's a hard life. With perfectly rotten rewards. Especially when it isn't warm in the evenings, and cold winds are blowing.

Yes, there is always the hope that some putz driving a cybertruck will crash and burn, but escape the vehicle before collapsing -- mm, nice fresh fatty suburban meat, still pink at the centre -- but realistically all they probably get are the deceased seagulls tossed overboard from the houseboats moored north of Sausalito.

That's not a diet for a bright young carrion eater.
No one really thrives on that.
It's un-American.


And, if I brought them home, they'd help guard this neighborhood from bums, drug addicts, and College Republicans. As well as other dubious untrustworthy types.

I'm fairly certain that they would like tea and toast.
So comforting when it's cold and blustery.

After listening to the folks in the backroom for several hours the company of turkey vultures, even though they probably have bad breath, seems strangely appealing.

And something tells me that they're not alcoholics.


Aeronautically elegant muppets.



==========================================================================
NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
LETTER BOX.
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.
==========================================================================