So I was going somewhere today and on the A train platform I found a baby sparrow. How it got there I don't know. I've seen grown birds on subway platforms before: I suppose some of them have nests, and this chick was born there. It could perch, but could neither fly nor peck, and it was filthy, but I think that's just a normal consequence of having been born in a subway station. I took it home and set it up in a cardboard box and mixed it up a batch of the tried-and-true sparrow formula: soggy cat or dog food, the yolk of a hard-boiled egg, and some apple juice or apple sauce with water to thin the mush out. This was a recipe I first learned more than twenty years ago from a wildlife rehabilitator when I found a sparrow chick -- which I named Ishmael, because it was a wild orphan. (Adults thought this was hilarious and quoted the opening line of Moby-Dick at me, like they'd never even read the Bible, GAWD.)
Like a chick over shredded time sheets
This chick is a pretty quick study, as after I tapped her beak and made a tweeting noise she instantly gaped and thereafter gaped as soon as she saw the feeding syringe. (When they don't do this you have to force-feed them, which is not fun for anybody.) She's dozing right now. She has a hearty appetite, and earlier was chirping and crapping vigorously, so it seems she's working as designed.