"Put a blanket."

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

god "possessing" artists "possessing" people

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.