the snail relocator

After the rain…..
She sends me pictures of them. Next to dimes, displayed on the end of her finger. All to give me a sense of how small they can be.
She tells me that they congregate on the wrought iron fences, and when they stray too far they’re sometimes scorched by the sun.
That’s why she moves them.
Saves them from such an unfortunate death.
The recently hatched are her favorite. Shells still soft.
Tiny and vulnerable, she cares for them as the commuters hurry past. Unaware of anything but themselves….

Crunch.

“Asshole.”