This story originally published online in The 9th Street Journal.
It’s Tuesday evening at the Velvet Hippo’s rooftop bar. From the wooded deck, a few dozen hipster bargoers admire a picture-perfect view of downtown Durham: City Hall, churches, and restaurants illuminated by warm street lights, folks sprinkled on the brick-laden sidewalks of West Orange Street, green trees speckled with orange, hinting at their incoming autumnal costume.
Perfect, until they hear the discordant chirps that quickly evolve into a long, drawling screech. Then they look up to the periwinkle-and-pink skies, where hundreds of birds, funneling into a tornado above their heads, slowly swoop into the chimney next door…