the parrot

The beach was empty, except for the winter Texans, who began arriving, even though winter still is a far bit of a piece around the corner. A few children played in the surf. A few surfers surfed in it. The seagulls stalked about the catfish beached by the so-called red tide, which wasn’t really red, but hot, all the same, what with the pepper in the air that scratched at the throat and stung the eyes. In a few hours, the municipal, beach clean-up crews would gather what was left of the catfish. He observed all of this and none of it, the scene passing before him as though it were there one moment and not, another, which is the way time works, actually. Besides, he was not so much thinking as he was wishing – wishing that the empty spot in his life weren’t so, well, empty. He knew it would take more than wishing to make that so, so, instead, he finished his walk and drove to Dirty Al’s and ate some deep fried shrimp and blackened chicken until he was full. For the moment, anyway. When he left the restaurant, he found a wild parrot perched on the hood of his car. He took it for an omen. It wasn’t.