Unwanted Migration

 

“Give me your tired . . . poor . . . huddled masses, blah blah blah.” Thompson stares at the replica of Miss Liberty where Mayor Bernard plopped her down at the entrance to the harbor. “Without askin’ a god damn one of us.”
Well, the masses came to huddle – everywhere.
“S’posed to be too cold for them to migrate here. Give me the creeps.”
Big ones, little ones, black, white, yellow, red.
“Even stripey.” Thompson grimaces. “Liberty and Bernard can have ’em all.”
Thompson starts his engine and pulls away from shore not realizing two enormous stripey snakes are huddled in his bed.