I stumble into a diner on Permeating and Decadence. I picked a booth in the back by the kitchen. The clanging dishes were soothing. A waitress with a beehive hairdo, popping some chewing gum, poured me a cup of coffee. She took my order of smothered covered spuds and eggs. "Fresh coffee" painted on the outside window, but by the smell of it, fresh must mean scorched from a couple of hours ago.
The sparrows covered the truck tires as if they were made of bread crumbs. This event seemed a little odd to me. I suppose I should have paid closer attention to the nuggets of wisdom that my grandparents dropped from time to time. I vaguely remember Nanna saying that the sparrow brought the new souls from heaven, which meant that a baby was about to be born.