Herion should have known. When one’s morning begins as a standoff with a hungry carno, the day can only get worse from there. Of course, the alternate would be no day at all, so Herion supposed any kind of luck at all, bad or good, was something of a blessing. But now, standing on the beach, staring down a ridiculously-coloured feathered creature with the sharp teeth of a carnivore, Herion found himself developing a petty grudge against fate.
He had come down to the shore to wash car...