Brooklyn Boy

The rain plinked the lake in the Japanese garden with an incessance so daunting that fish were overwhelmed and attempted to breathe the air above which, fortunately, was filled with water. A large, nautical bird loomed atop a monument, undaunted, its tubular neck craning with impatience as it — eyes only — patrolled the higher reaches of the shower.

I don’t mean tubular in the strange slanguage of today’s 1980s young. I mean, of course, a neck in the shape of a tube.

The waterfaring bird giant had long, strong legs and moved like a dinosaur. The turtle, leagues below, didn’t seem to notice.

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