. . . the lady who clears the highways of roadkill picked up a large charred bird carcass with a pair of long-handled tongs and showed it to me. She called it a seal, but it looked more like an ostrich to me. Its flesh was charred and not unappealing, like a spit-roasted pig's crispy brown skin. I recoiled when she pinched her tongs together tightly, afraid the barbecued ostrich might burst.
