3. The bird waddled

300 stories

The bird waddled through the deserted streets. The animal was plump and ugly, save for the colour of its feathers which shone in a translucent orange glow that contrasted sharply with its weathered grey beak. The way it hopped over the bodies that still littered the pavement betrayed a casualness usually reserved for a habit you acquire over a vast number of years, hardly noticing it slipping into your everyday life, until someone mentions it off the cuff and you go “Oh yeah, I wonder where I picked that up!”

Of course the bird didn’t really think about anything as deep as that as it haphazardly made its way towards 42nd Street. Its brains were barely intelligent enough to put one foot in front of the other, let alone muse about the psychological implications of acquiring odd habits. Besides, it had only been around for a couple of months…

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