Coconut Grove “Margaritaville” — Jimmy Buffett

the crunch of eggshell coupled with the growing din of the gulls' return, until the sky had darkened with their bodies and the squall overwhelmed.

jawahir had feasted. runny stains of gold trailed in the beige of their furs. pieces of shell scattered among the nests.
the boy was nowhere to be found. the only way out, aside from the route jawahir had carved through the grass, had been back the way they'd come—so it is towards this they move, snaking low while the birds riot.

the grass serves to clean some of the yolk from their chest. ahead, they spot the boy retreating; sunlight catching the reds of his coat.

what fun! jawahir calls to them, slowing to a steady pace not far behind.