The crow sat on top of the stone wall and honked and don’t tell me crows don’t honk. That’s exactly what he did like leaning on the horn of a 57 Buick. New Years happened. It Rained and the planned band concert at the Coliseum was a wash out. The band was under a tent but the crowd wasn’t and went away when the downpour began. By then the band was unplugging things cause it seemed the best thing to do. You don’t want toasted band members if you ever want to use them again.
At home the fireworks in the street started about eleven and didn’t quit until twenty minutes after one in the morning. For a while the eruption of fireworks and thunder was so continuous that I had visions it was a terrorist brigade that had entered the city under the cover of the noise that blended well with small arms fire and was going door to door killing everyone inside. I was making plans where to hide us and how I’d defend myself with a chair and a kitchen knife like a carnival lion tamer, except he had a whip, not a kitchen knife.
Then they stopped and I slept and it was morning. Outside our bedroom window is a court between the buildings that is about ten by fifteen feet, straight up from the ground to the fourth floor and the sky. Up there on the top lip in the morning was a crow. He crowed and it echoed down the chamber. He must have been enjoying the noise cause he didn’t stop for a long time, and he was too far up for me to throw anything at him. Happy New Year I heard him say, in bird talk of course.
Thus we survived the night without wounds and only gun shots.
The headline in the newspaper this morning deemed the celebration successful, said Less Hurt, a couple of hands, eyes, a thumb and a 61 year old danced himself to death in Perugia.