“What bird are you calling?′ I ask, finally, when I can’t stand it any longer. The bird man stops whistling. He grins, so that I can see all his pebbly teeth. He holds out a hand to me over the broth-thin water. ‘You.”
“What bird are you calling?′ I ask, finally, when I can’t stand it any longer. The bird man stops whistling. He grins, so that I can see all his pebbly teeth. He holds out a hand to me over the broth-thin water. ‘You.”
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