‘The rain is easing. Sea gulls circle and land on something between the logs on the rocky shore. A flock of sea gulls is called a squabble, and they are doing that right now, fighting for a place on whatever has washed up on shore. As my speedboat buzzes by, some of the sea gulls hop away, revealing something dark, but then they cover it again. It must be big to have attracted so many. On the other side of the channel from me is a tanker on its way to Alcan’s dock. It moves with the ponderous weight of a loaded ship, is low in the water and oblivious to me. When we were kids, Jimmy and I used to watch the tankers through binoculars and try to decipher the names. Some were Russian or Japanese, or rusted beyond reading.
The crows wait at the outskirts of the squabble. They are little black dots that flutter and edge nearer to the corpse until the sea gulls drive them away. A flock of crows is called a murder.’
***
Work Hazards (Excerpt, MEC)
I should have gone back to bed. This was a day I’d live to regret, only I didn’t realize it until much later. I should have taken the hint when I’d burnt the toast and overcooked the eggs, but I soldiered on. Showered and dressed for work, smelling only slightly of my toast offering to the gods, I peered out the window to my truck in the yard. Rain, again. So much for the attention I’d paid to my hair; it would be flat in seconds the moment I stepped out of the house. Ah well, such is life.
As I ease into the drivers seat, I find that my arms and neck are already tired. Must have been all the shoveling yester I think, starting the truck and turning the fan up to full blast to clear the windshield of the mist condensing from my breath.
As I drive to the job site, I try to forget what I’m doing, the job I’ve been paid so handsomely to perform. That’s the trick – just forget about it. There is a trick to it and for me today, I’m using talk radio as my trick, in order to keep moving forward. It’s a decently long drive, and I stop once along the way to fill up one tank and empty another. Nearing the job site, I turn the radio off. Now it’s time for me to focus on what I do best, why I’ve been hired.
As I approach the burning barrel, the stench enters my nostrils, erasing all of the offensive burnt toast smell from memory.
What doesn’t disappear as fast here, are the bones.
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