Hi, he says sheepishly. He sighs.
How are you, I ask him.
He sighs. I'm OK.
We've discussed this exaggerated sighing and his "I'm OK" response always followed by more sighs. It's tedious. More of his passive aggression.
Glad to hear it, I tell him.
My wings are scorched and you don't care, he declares while kicking at a minute piece of dust so small it could have fallen from his feathers.
I roll my eyes at him which he really truly hates because when he does it to me I don't notice his eyes being solid black.
But I know what he's doing though since his brows flicker.
The heat is heavy like a wet nest, he says, I can't move out there.
Well, you're inside now so chill.
Oh, ha ha, he says, You are so sharp but I must attend to my deliveries.
He notices that I slightly shift towards him with attention. He loves my fascination the conniving little fucker. He never tells me who receives his deliveries or what he's carrying.
He rolls on my desk rocking with laughter.
It's really loud and unsettles the dog who creeps towards the desk as the laughing crow hops towards the edge.
Watch it, I tell him just as he produces a shiny red cherry from beneath his wing and drops it into the dogs open mouth.
Special delivery, he says to the dog.
