CLEAN THE FLOOR

I watch as the ladies in unit numbers 27 and 28 argue about the feeding of the cockatoos which come most afternoons, perching on a nearby railing. Number 27 (supposedly with a penchant for psychic predictions, one of which includes the premature passing of Mrs Shearer: I give her two years at best) takes the position of vehemently opposing the feeding of the birds, citing repeatedly the appropriate passage in the handbook of rules and regulations. Number 28, on the other hand, who has a fondness for Finnish vodka and the piano sonatas of one Mr Ludvig van Beethoven darling, is strongly in favor of the free distribution of birdseed in any amount she deems suitable. And she feigns retching each time at the mere mention of the stipulated rules.