It’s a Tuesday morning. I’m sitting at my desk, thinking about why my comma key didn’t recognise my input the first time I hit it.
I’m trying to think of something to write. I am unfortunate in this regard.
My PS3 isn’t hooked up so I can’t play an old game that’s so irrelevant my hits don’t break the hot dozen.
I am childless so I can’t document how they play games or watch them eat amiibo.
So what I’m left with is the task to decide on what people actually want to hear. I listen to the birds outside. I like the chirps of small birds. I like how their high pitch makes it sound like they’re singing in joy. I look out my window. I see now that two birds are about to throw down, while others cheer them on. One is brown and I’m assuming a myna bird. The other is black and white, and definitely a magpie-lark.
A tiny bookie is collecting bets. From the looks of his miniscule sign the smart money is on the brown bird. The bookie is shouting for the last bets to placed, a smarmy grimace across his grotesque beak. I understand that while the fight in and of itself is exciting, putting money down only adds to the thrill, putting yourself in a self-conjured sense of failure. I’ve always imagined birds’ lives to be quite thrilling, what with all the flying and danger from children who should probably be on leashes chasing you.
Knowing the nature of myna birds around this area I definitely don’t see the magpie-lark coming out of this in one piece. The myna is staring down the magpie-lark, ready to poke him on. They’re circling the small area, if one had a gun, damn! The wind is quite fierce, as seen by drag on ball rolling down the street. Naruto.
The myna takes the first swing. A car comes by. All birds scatter but the myna. I run outside to see the damage. I stare at the flattened bird. I do not have words. Suddenly a bee flies by and scrawls into the squashed carcase. “Bee in flat myna,” I proclaim.
Good night everyone, please hire me.