I'm sitting at my desk, trying to work on my book. It's a warm, sunny day outside. The windows are open. The birds are starting to get on my nerves.
Don't get me wrong. I like birds. Especially chickens. With bacon and guacamole on a toasted bun. I don't mind the chirpy, living kind of birds either, but the damn crows are way too loud. They're circling outside right now, squawking loudly enough to distract me from my writing. Crows aren't like the other birds. The other birds sound happy and playful. They chirp peacefully. But the crows cackle at each other. And I know what they're thinking.
"Squawk! Squawk! Keep squawking everybody. We're disturbing Dave's work!"
"Waahoo! I can squawk louder than you can!"
"You can not! My grandmother can squawk louder than you!"
"Oh yeah? SQUAWK!! SQUAAAWWWWWK!!!"
"Hey look guys! Dave stopped typing! It's working!"
Stupid, illiterate crows. They just don't appreciate good writing.
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