Tuesday, 10 November 2020


I am lying on a bed cover and swiping at very small, sleek flies, such as have their wings tucked tight into their backs, trying to swat them against the fabric. There is a pigeon, its feathers the same dark grey as the cover and it seems I am trying to now swat the flies against its back. There's a sliding window just a foot or so from the edge of the bed and the pigeon hops to the cill then to the floor. It hobbles in its own peculiar pigeon fashion down this narrow passage and in the centre of the floor it has suddenly become a black labrador dog that falls back on its bottom before lying on it's side, raising its right front foot in friendly submission, pawing gently at the air-

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