Around the House

An article by Elizabeth Bruenig, staff writer at the Atlantic

After the end of the world, there will be birdsong. I used to imagine this when everything was going awry. I would lie in bed in my college dorm room and listen to the lone mockingbird who sang all night outside my window in the spring months. I was worried about something or other; he was getting on with things. It’s what birds do. They have a knack for it. In the Book of Genesis, after the devastation of the Earth ...

The other day I made myself a coffee (my beloved was at her mother's letting me fend for myself) when on the way back to my kitchen stool I passed the refrigerator and I swear I could hear the beers whisper: "WTF?"