That truck will stop coming toward me long before I have to open my wings and fly away.

Every little old lady with a bag is my friend.

What this statue needs is more of the old Jackson Pollock touch.

If I follow that attractive hen-pigeon from a distance of six inches for the rest of the day, she is bound to notice my admirable qualities.

Humans operating under divine direction have built this city for me, God’s favored creation.

God favors the stupid and unambitious.

That cigarette butt probably tastes like corn.