By Neil Beynon
They stood upon the rooftop, looking down below.
“What are they so frightened of?” asked the one in the crushed velvet, purple three piece and brass watch chain.
“The laughter,” replied the one in black leather and diamond nose stud. “And the words. And the pictures.”
The woodpecker cracked its rhythm upon the street.
“Those are powerful magic…” granted the crushed velvet one, lighting up a cigarette, its left wing curling to shield the flame from the winter wind. “But what I can’t understand…”
The woodpecker beat out once more.
“Yes…?” asked the one in black.
“Is why they keep missing those things and hitting all those people?”