The ebb of a spring tide always draws the water off a
broad strip of this mud, and then flocks of gulls appear
from all over the Upper Bay and light on it and thrash
around and scratch for clams. They fly up with clams in
their beaks and drop them on the concrete walk that runs
along the top of the island’s sea wall, and then they swoop
down and pluck the meats out of the broken shells.
from The Bottom of the Harbour by Joseph Mitchell
