Why is it that when I see a young seagull rolling down a roof,
I have this urge to write about a young seagull rolling down a roof,
even though I don’t care about a young seagull rolling down a roof?
But before I could find a good reason—any reason—after a brief
tussle in the gutter, the young seagull flew away crying, unscathed
and unaware.
hidden pilcrow 