Twitching

“You guys know anything about birds?”

They turned from their near empty pitcher to the man sitting a table over. Pink freshly shaved cheeks, thin hair combed back, a well-fitted blazer over a bleached white t-shirt. He was pointing towards the fence. Sunlight glinted of the face of his watch.

“That little one there,” he said. “What’s that one called?”

The three of them shielded their eyes and looked to where the man pointed.

“You see it? There. It just moved.”

They kept looking.

“Damn. It flew off,” he said. “Can’t fault them. That’s what birds do. Right?”

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