Whatever Helps

by cunningcrowbooks

I was out on 21st Street one foggy morning at 8:00 AM. A bluejay screamed down at me from one of the many wires that dissect the sky. Her metallic yelping pinged off the walls that rise on either side of the street. A woman hurrying down the sidewalk toward the bus-stop paused and asked me, “Is that bird squawking at you?” ”Yes,” I said. “She wants her cashew nuts.” Which was true. I had been feeding the jays every morning, but that morning had overslept. The woman laughed and said, “Thank you. I needed something to get through my day.” And she clattered off on her high heels.