The man beneath my window is shouting at his phone. The phone doesn’t reply. Phone doesn’t get a word in edgeways. His tone is unvarying, angry, and the flow like a tap opened full. I wish I could turn him off. Oh joy! The phone has had enough.
He stares at the screen and mutters. Now he can go back to his friends in the restaurant who are all shouting at one another and braying with laughter. No conversation, just shouting. He’ll like that. They won’t cut him off. Nobody listens; nobody cares.
Sparrows, wing flutter,
chirrup soft brown careless songs,
heavy voices drone.