Birds of a Feather

My friends and I are birds of a feather. We tour the country visiting landfills. Not toxic- dumps--Excess Refuse Options, that's what we call them.
Certainly the Staten Island landfill is at the top of our list, We stand there absorbing the exotic aroma, wait until twilight when its true beauty emerges. Gulls scream to punctuate this aural symphony. Sometimes we scream back. Some of us get naked.
There are sick rumors this is the final resting rest of certain local politicians.
Call us odd, but what if we chose beaches as our destination? Sand is  boring. So are waves. Here there is variety and unpredictability.
The sun is dipping below the horizon. Time to get naked.
I won't say if we leap in. You might be eating.