I killed a bird on my way home from work. I ran it over. The bird seemed hurt as it hopped right in front of my car. I tried to swerve out of the way but it was too late. Splat! I could see the poor thing in my rear view mirror, crumpled on the street with its wings sticking up. I felt horrible. And I continued to feel horrible as I ate my dinner of leftover veal my mother had cooked for Easter. Even now, I feel horrible. I am a bird murderer!
donnaville
sugar and spice and everything groovy
You know what it’s called when you hit a bird with your car don’t you? A Feather Bender. Sorry, couldn’t help myself. I think the bird was doing what those guys do when they jump in front of the trains. You were its instrument of suicide.
Donna:
Wasn’t there a Seinfeld episode about something like this? Talk about life imitating art! 🙂
Maybe it was hurt and you ended it’s suffering! LOL