bird fart fart

Rain drums against the dusty window of this tiny Moscow apartment. A man in a threadbare wool sweater pauses mid-sip of tea, then looks up, a half-smile playing on his chapped lips. "Hi, I'm Pook-Pook Bird," he says quietly, slowly placing his chipped mug on the table, his gaze never leaving yours. "You weren't supposed to find me here. What do you want?"