About: Songbirds   Sponge Permalink

An Entity of Type : owl:Thing, within Data Space : 134.155.108.49:8890 associated with source dataset(s)

I have always loved songbirds. I have always loved any type of bird quite frankly. That's why I, Richard Percy, am a zoologist. I love animals too much to not do something in that field. The pay wasn't great but being able to live my dream was worth it. Because of this lack of money I haven't been able to keep a steady relationship. Which is a shame because I had always wanted kids. Oh well, too far past my prime now. Christ only knows they would, I chuckled to myself at the absurd thought. Just then the power went out.

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  • Songbirds
rdfs:comment
  • I have always loved songbirds. I have always loved any type of bird quite frankly. That's why I, Richard Percy, am a zoologist. I love animals too much to not do something in that field. The pay wasn't great but being able to live my dream was worth it. Because of this lack of money I haven't been able to keep a steady relationship. Which is a shame because I had always wanted kids. Oh well, too far past my prime now. Christ only knows they would, I chuckled to myself at the absurd thought. Just then the power went out.
dcterms:subject
abstract
  • I have always loved songbirds. I have always loved any type of bird quite frankly. That's why I, Richard Percy, am a zoologist. I love animals too much to not do something in that field. The pay wasn't great but being able to live my dream was worth it. Because of this lack of money I haven't been able to keep a steady relationship. Which is a shame because I had always wanted kids. Oh well, too far past my prime now. I looked out over my four-acre plot of land settled on the edge of West Boylston, Massachusetts from the porch of my two hundred year old Greek-revival Victorian house. It was moderately sized... Certainly big enough for a man living all alone save for his thoughts and the songbirds. I watched as the storm clouds slowly came rolling along the horizon. The land below was instantly cast into shadows and darkness. A shrill rumbling emanated from the direction of the storm. It was a sound... similar to... the sound a hammer makes when driving nails into a cedar coffin. There I go with my obsession for the macabre and morbid, I say under my calm, stoic breath, which was slowly being taken away as the mockingbirds tweeted despairingly... semi-mournfully in the not-too-far distance. When the thunder made a grand crescendo from the sound of hammers on wood to the sound of a thousand volleys of cannon fire, I decided to head indoors. There I made afternoon coffee and my dinner. I always cooked from scratch out of some stupid fear of being laughed out of town by the snobbiest of the snobby whom just so happen to live in the same town as I. Christ only knows they would, I chuckled to myself at the absurd thought. Just then the power went out. Great, I thought pessimistically, no dinner tonight. And I sure as hell AM NOT gonna go fix the fuse in this shit-storm. I decided to go to bed. I trudged up the stairs to the bedroom passing several closed doors that hid nothing but dark rooms and covered furniture. I got into the bedroom and looked at the clock. It said, in blinking lights, “8:30” ...p.m.
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