"Like the gift shop, the zoo was deserted. Cages of galvanized wire, weathered into dullness. Had it been shiny when the place was first built? She had a hard time envisioning any part of this ever being shiny and new. It was too slump-shouldered, too almost-abandoned. "
Here’s a little. The protagonist’s an elderly woman with an important secret:
Like the gift shop, the zoo was deserted. Cages of galvanized wire, weathered into dullness. Had it been shiny when the place was first built? She had a hard time envisioning any part of this ever being shiny and new. It was too slump-shouldered, too almost-abandoned.
Despite the man’s words, there was no shade, only crumbing concrete benches sizzling in the sun beside lopsided tables, so she wandered through the cages. If she kept moving, the sun wouldn’t press down on her like a hand, and besides, there might be shade here somewhere.
The most interesting thing was the actual prairie dog town that the zoo had been built on. The prairie dogs were there, their heads at the top of many of the tunnels, each of which had a scattering of grain near them. Most of the prairie dogs whistled and popped their heads back in when she approached, but one fat one stayed, chewing away, even when she got within a few feet, although it tilted its head to keep her in view, cheeks still stuffed full.
Someone else might have found the place depressing, but she didn’t do emotions any more. You can’t have a heart that bleeds if you want to be in our line of work, her father had said long ago when she was a teen, just learning, and he’d made sure of that. Her thoughts moved away from that. Water under the bridge, time that had flowed away and never been recoverable.
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