Gill the Gull

Gill the gull was not best pleased. 20 minutes there and twenty minutes back, and the sun's shine meant they had sneezed. 5 full times.

Gill's wings were tired. The result of an old tennis injury that popped up when they rushed.

Gill was sweating. Concerned about why they were sweating all of a sudden. Gulls aren't supposed to sweat. Unless they see a bag of chips and then it becomes sweat patch city. Gill was late on some files and the emails labeled 'urgent' were stacking up.

Gill had sh*t precisely on only 4 cars this week. At least 15 below corporate average.

Gill's aim was off. Distracted by doom-scrolling and if Britney was going to feature on the new Barbie movie soundtrack or not.

Gill was 6 minutes from their nest and could feel a bum bomb was building.

Scanning around, Gill looked for a shiny new vehicle on which they could dispatch this newest of stowaways.

But there were none to be seen.

Gill flapped and flustered. Feathers shaking loose at the sight of a convertible. Red and glistening in the morning dews.

Roof down. Leather seats. A CD PLAYAHPLAYAHPLAYAHPLAYAH.

And with that, Gill shut their eyes tight. Squeezed and shook.

Bombs away.

5 Minutes from home.