:V

You had to return a stag beetle to a coworker, and drop bundled up papers in the shed during cleaning time. There's a breeze outside and

7. a bird made entirely of esses and haitches, and the various configurations they'd make on rooftops and passsageways. It hunkers, solitary, in spaces where the wind and rain drown out noises less monotonous. It reminds you of green and spring and amnesty, despite lacking colors of its own.

The sound of an engine reminds you of 7's affinity for

8. An anxiety-riddled bird, feathers like radio towers bent under strain. It can occasionally tolerate, but generally dislikes sound - it smoulders away when assailed until ash cakes its plumes. In a weakened state, a stray sound can punch through its timpani skin like the butt of a flamethrower.

Your coworker sneezes, and 8 reels. It's a nice afternoon, you should leave work.



The trenchcoat, for what it's worth, is metaphorical.