crapped on by a bird again (that's twelve)
the journal of Michael Werneburg
twenty-seven years and one million words
Toronto, 2013.04.20
I pulled out the suede coat that my mother resurrected for me recently with some repairs, and lo and behold, there was a spatter of white birdshit that must have hit me when I was cycling this week, from the looks of things. The funny thing is that I'd thought I noticed a bird trying to crap on me, but didn't notice any stains on the coat at the time.
Oh well, that's twelve.