She recalls they drove through the swamps… that is where flamingos live. Immense moors a borderless region. The still waters are peach tinted packed with miniature shrimps the birds gulp alive. Those small critters make their feathers rosy like dreams. They drove through the swamps until dark. The road was a ribbon squeezed among mirrors, scarlet. She’s quite sure the birds made a noise when they lifted. First a shuffling like tearing pages and pages. Then a cry getting distant. Gyroscope Review - page 8!