A pigeon just flew into the office.
It had been picking at the outside paintwork on the windows earlier. I have no idea why it was picking at the paintwork. Maybe it could smell the build-up of dead insects between the two sets of windows, killed by the happy smiling sunflower stickers soaked in nerve agents that are stuck in the interfenestral cavity. The pigeon and I had a beady-eyed staring competition which it won, because close up pigeon eyes look like octopus eyes and that bothered me intensely.
Flying through an opening two feet wide, it then proceeded to carom off every. single. window. before coming to rest on the radiator. Taking flight again, it sprayed a tiny amount of poo in the corner where S. usually sits, and then continued bonking off each pane in turn before landing in the centre of the office. Then, looking at me like I’d played some cruel trick on its poor pigeon brain, it walked over to the door and flew off.
There was nobody else in the office. If it weren’t for the feathers all over the floor and the shit on S’s desk, nobody would believe me. Even now I worry that N. will think I do the most unsavoury things while he’s out walking the dog.