BIRDS AND BOND
Birds. They’re everywhere. Flying like they do. Shitting on my windshield. Their songs are so beautiful, except at 4 in the morning. Crows are the worst. They don’t even have a pretty song. With them, it’s just that pompous “CAW!” Either learn a different tune, or shut up. When the weather was better, it was nice to sleep with the windows open. The cross breeze coming through cooled things off just enough, and the sounds of the night are peaceful.
And then it begins. CAW! CAW! CAW! Son of a bitch; the sun isn’t even up yet. CAW! CAW! CAW! Great. I was in the middle of the perfect dream, too. I was dreaming I was James Bond, driving an Aston Martin. Fast, too. There are no traffic cops in my dreams. I can drive as fast as I want, and there’s never any danger of getting into an accident, unless the dream turns on me.
So there I am, driving about 100 miles per hour on the Autobahn, a hot chick by my side, feeling safe and protected, because after all, I’m Bond. James Bond. And she’s so grateful too, if you catch my drift. We pull over into the parking lot of a diner. Not in the front…in the back. Where it’s dark. She smiles tentatively, still frightened a bit, but knowing that I’m there to protect her. I gaze into her eyes and assure her that we’re safe now.
She looks back at me, opens her mouth, and says, CAW! CAW! CAW! You’ve got to be kidding me. I reach over onto the nightstand, hoping the cool spy gun I had in my dream followed me out, and my hand closes around a tube of Preparation H. Speaking of a pain in the ass, that damn crow is at it again. CAW! CAW! CAW!
I roll out of bed and half walk, half stumble to the windows, and bump into the wall. Something else followed me out of the dream, and it’s probably a good thing I bumped into the wall, because I probably would have otherwise closed the window on it. Once the windows are closed, I shuffle to the bathroom, trying to figure out how to urinate without spray painting the walls. When I finally figure out the right angle, a shadow catches my attention to the right.
Perched on a branch outside the bathroom window, is my nemesis, Dr. Crow. CAW! CAW! CAW! So much for the right angle. My stream hits the wall above the toilet, ricochets off of a framed painting of the Virgin Mary, and catches me right in the eye. Screaming and cursing, I fall backward into the tub, grabbing the shower curtain on my way down, the shower curtain rings snapping one at a time. I lay there stunned, covered in sweat, urine, and the shower curtain, the last of my piss circling the drain, ready to give up and just sleep here, until he starts laughing. CAW! CAW! CAW!