The foamy lip of a newly opened tall boy…the expiration date on a box of cold medicine…the salt and pepper of an overflowing hotel ashtray…the yellow warning signs around the sinkhole: these are the things you look at when you are fighting/talking with her that day. None of it registers exactly, sort of like being tired and trying to read a magazine paragraph over and over.
“Look at the seagull,” she says, pointing. It has a crab in its beak. The crab is twitching in vain, although maybe if got the seagull’s throat it wouldn’t be in vain. How often do crabs win in this game?
The gull flies up high and then drops the poor crab on a rocky area so that it will break apart and be easier to eat. You say it’s sad, but she says it’s no different than when you bash crabs with mallets in seafood restaurants, and you agree.