Her: … so your turn, what’s your fantasy?
Him: Erm.
Him: Instead of Covid-19 it’s Corvid-19 and spread by crows and everyone is afraid of crows.
Him: All but one hairy old guy.
Him: Who they call the Crowmaster.
Him: But he’s not a master of crows. He’s more like a pal.
Him: That’s how it looks from his side. Who knows what a crow thinks.
Him: Could be they just like his dogfood.
Him: But when dozens of squawking crows swirl around him in the park on a windy day, he can understand where the Crowmaster comes from.
Him: And because everyone else is shunning crows, his flock in the park gets bigger and bigger.
Him: And the weather gets windier and windier.
Him: And people get more and more scared. Of him too.
Him: And crows everywhere, hanging in the wind, squawking in all the tree branches.
Him: On the windiest day, so many crows are flying around you can’t see him anymore.
Him: He disappears from view.
Him: The wind dies down and the crows disperse.
Him: And the guy is no where to be seen.
Him: Then maybe it snows a little bit, before the sun comes out.
Her:
Her: Ok.