Annette Prince peered between glossy downtown buildings: ”There’s a bird in that grate.”
Sure enough, sitting very still in the rain was a tiny white-throated sparrow, so drenched you could barely make out its canary-yellow face markings. The bird was too dazed to move — an easy target for the hungry seagulls that were patrolling the area.
Prince looked up at the nearest skyscraper, with its rows of dark windows.
“He probably hit the glass up there and fell down,” she said.