One Shot Story of a Bird From a Car

If I was true to my hillbilly roots I would pull out a gun and shoot this fucking bird. But I’m not so I won’t. I abandoned those years ago for city life, a German automobile, and indoor plumbing. I also don’t own a gun… well… I own an air rifle, but that’s for critter, and maybe neighbor, control around the house. And this bird doesn’t deserve to die, it’s minding its own business. I’m the one that rolled up on it.

I’m here for a bathroom break and some snacks. I’m sure it wants some snacks, can you blame it? Could I share? Sure, but I have hours of driving still… a camp sight to hit… a sister to visit… a best friend to get hammered with and talk about that time I shot him in the butt with an air rifle. On a road trip of more than three hours I pack some serious snacks. But since birds don’t have taste buds can it really distinguish between the subtleties of White Cheddar Cheez-Its and trail-mix? Or even between capicola and Genoa Salami? Probably not. So we just sit here. It hoping I will share and me rubbing my meal in its face like a true American slob.

The windows are down and frankly I’m surprised it doesn’t try to hop into the car… at least it knows it’s boundaries. We don’t even speak, not a chirp from the bird nor a blathering insult from me. Not out-loud anyways.

I do wonder if anyone has ever eaten a seagull, I’m sure they have… I mean… people are weird… and curious… and also desperate and cruel. Seems like a hard way to get nutrients tho… so little meat… so many worms… gross. My sister ate a peacock she found on the beach that one time… I’ll have to ask if she’s eaten gull.

Where are this birds friends?
Does it have friends?
Or maybe, like me, it’s on a solo trip, destined for grand adventure on Highway 101. Delighted to see family and old friends along the way.

What if this bird got in the car with me, tired of flying, and we road-trip together, like a buddy comedy movie?
I hope it likes Camel Lights.
And rock n roll.
Will it hang it’s head out the window like a dog… tongue flapping in the wind… drool running down the entire passenger side of the car?
Will it drink tequila with me at a dive bar? Would it be a good wingman? Do birds get hangovers?
Imagine trying to pitch that movie… “It’s like Fear and Loathing… but with a bird and a guy…” Pass.

Who am I kidding, I’m not having a bird in this car, it can’t even wear a seatbelt… much less read a map or roll a joint.

Also, it’s barely moved in the thirty minutes I’ve been sitting here. Maybe it’s… you know… simple. Maybe that’s why it doesn’t have any friends or motivation. Great, here I am thinking about picking up this simple, hitchhiking bird as a road companion. Maybe I’m the stupid one. At least a can read a road map.

Would it try to kill me if I did pick it up tho? I’ve seen that Hitchcock movie. Birds are weird. They’re leftover from the Jurassic era…I’m sure there’s some residual anger there somewhere. Jesus, is it gonna try to kill me now if I don’t feed it?

Is it gonna steal the car when I get out to pee?

I better roll up the window, pop the clutch, and haul ass outta here… but not before I take out my camera and shoot this fucking bird.

And to do so I used a Leica M6 with a Voigtlander 21mm f3.4 and some Cinestill XX from the driver’s seat of a 2004 BMW 325ci… it’s a five speed. And I’m almost positive I was listening to the entire discography of Queens of the Stone Age on that leg of the trip… and judging from time of day and scenery it was most likely the album Era Vulgaris.

You can find more of my ramblings on Instagram or my website.

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