The two pigeon babies on the veranda look fat and shiny.
Soon they are ready to fly, or be roasted. I have just
arrived and it is Sunday; why should I spend money going
to a restaurant, when I can see my dinner through
the glass door? In the kitchen I switch on the grill, find
a sharp knife, but the terrace is empty, dinner has flown
sits in a tree looking up. Did the birds read my thoughts?
