Races have started, the usual half-pissed conversations, hard to concentrate in here even with covid spacing. A row of corellas on the power line outside. They were there last Saturday too. Regulars. Haha. Your throat tickles, another sneeze coming, you’ll be kicked out before you’ve finished your first drink. Wipe your eyes, pretend something went down the wrong way, a bit of hay fever. Phew. One of those smart-arse avians dives into a somersault, comes up crest first, wings out, bullet eyes blazing, beak open. Beat that. You imagine them nudging each other, laughing at the human condition. They’re probably right.
– Hilary Hewitt
Hilary Hewitt is an inner-Sydney based writer of microfiction. She is using covid time to finish reading Volume 4 of Proust. On the whole she prefers watching corellas.
