The Bird

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"Dead end," he said. "I've got to get out of this apartment."

He went downtown and went into a strip club, using the last of his unemployment money to drink beers and talk to the girls. They put up with him because he was a paying customer.

"I'm a writer," he told one girl. She was beautiful enough to occupy a place in his dreams. "I'm working on a novel." "Oh, come on," she said. "Everyone knows birds are lousy writers." "Not me," he said, knocking another one back. "I'm great. They'll call me the first great bird novelist." He drank a few more beers. When he finally ordered one he couldn't pay for, the bouncers dragged him out the front door and knocked him around a bit. Page One Page Two The Bird, Page Three Page Four