And so they sat there quietly, smoking away, and maybe the lack of false small talk encouraged the man to turn and announce in a level, meditative tone, ‘She said she wanted to rest on my shoulder as lightly as a bird. I thought that sounded poetic. Also, bloody brilliant, just what a fellow needs. Never went for clingy.’
The man paused. Paul was always happy to supply a prompt. ‘But it didn’t work out?’
‘Two problems.’ The fellow inhaled, then blew the smoke into the scented air. ‘Number one, birds fly away, don’t they? That’s in their nature, as a bird, isn’t it? And number two, before they do, they always shit on your shoulder.’ And with that he stubbed out his cigarette, nodded, and walked off down the beach towards the gentle tide.
— The Only Story (Julian Barnes), Loc. 2746–53