Priscilla knelt to inspect the avian flattened to the pavement. One wing was raised in the air, asking a question that wouldn’t be answered.
“Sad,” she murmured.
“Why?” her sister asked, shielding her eyes from the screaming Arizona sun.
“It had wings,” Priscilla replied, standing. “It could have prevented this.”
“Maybe,” Toni shrugged, bitter. “Mom didn’t.”
The city bus groaned to a halt and exhaled as its lips parted to let them aboard, ready for the hospital.
“It’ll hit ya,” Toni added after a while.
“What, a car?”
“No, life,” she replied, her face grim in the reflection in the window.