The Macaw and The Apple
Al could hear the rumbling and whirring of the train car as it sped along the light rail through the rocky hillside of Western Argentina. He knew he had a conversation to attend to, but couldn’t seem to stop looking at the bird ahead of him across the aisle. The fluorescent red-orange feathers around its head and torso were like nothing he’d seen before at home. The man that the bird was perched upon was equally peculiar. He wore an old, black tuxedo with a hat to match and round, gold-trimmed glasses. He had a waxed mustache, mutton chops, and was reading from a worn, leather-bound book.
