A Thorough and Distasteful Dissection of Fictional Suburban Wildlife

There was little for a walrus to do on a Monday afternoon, noted the walrus. It was of course not the sort of sentiment that would be noted by anyone other than a walrus because, naturally, none other than walruses are concerned with such trivial matters as walrus boredom.

The walrus shuffled along by the recreational ground and watched the ants dance upon the path.

“There’s ever so little to do

as a Walrus in the afternoon,

so I shall talk to you

for want of anything better to do.” Rhymed the walrus to a passing crow.

“Drunkard” Cursed the crow, flying back to his suburban nest. He brought to his wife and chicks a roasting joint of worm for dinner before excusing himself saying he had to go and pick up more shopping. He flew to a discreet rendezvous in gropecunt lane, atop a lamp post with Robin – a disreputable, flighty little thing. After an exchange of twigs and shiny things they engaged in the sinful act. Married with two children suburban crow carried on to his business.

Robin sat upon the lamp post waiting for more custom.

Whilst she did this, everything carried on. The cars, the walrus, the crow’s familial charade of happiness, the breeze and the ants and the afternoon progressed. Time waits for no walrus nor crow.