They’d been labelled ‘Birdies’, the ones with symptoms they could hide. A few downy black and white feathers among chest hair.
Walt went on-line to work each day. He’d have gone into the office if it had been operating. No one would have suspected. But everything was locked down now. He banged out eight hours of whatever Krystina threw at him – client briefings and contingency plans. She gave him no thanks for his efforts. At night he dreamt of dive-bombing her from a tall gum tree. Driving his sharp beak into her crown, where her grey roots showed along the line of her rigid part.

– RH April 2020

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