Birds. Fucking birds.

If there is any lonelier place to be than sharing a 4 AM morning with a cup of coffee and the early birds of summer, I would like to hear it. I challenge you to find it. If it's the bottom of a well? At least you can scarce hear the perpetual songs of those impudent fucking song birds out and about. Catching worms. Flying. Makes a man want to conduct a predawn shotgun raid on their ill-begotten bliss. I doubt the BPD would take kindly to such a violent resolution to my problem. Still. Glue traps maybe. Staple some cats to the roof. Cyanide aerosol. I dunno. I refuse to wear earmuffs. Nature can take the fall on this one.