Sandie Jones

How can there be so many birds in the world and yet we see so few dead? Where do they go to die?

But as I drew nearer, he’d put his head through the bars, looking like Jack Nicholson in The Shining, and prised them apart with his bare hands.

“The look in his eyes,” she says. “I thought he was going to kill me.”

I’m just a narcissist who feeds my own need for gratification with other people’s insecurities.