There’s a chattering of bird warbles high up ahead. We come out from under a canopy of trees and I slow down to look into the tall palms across the street. It’s a flock of parrots. I cross the street for a closer look. Tricia points at an approaching car, “Jeff.” I’m carrying the baby, “I see it.” The flock thins out. A group of four fly west to Sunset. The others stay behind, lower their voices.

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