[Late night. Dave sits on the couch, sleepily reading a Watchman hardback. Just as he's about to doze off, there's a knocking from the hallway. Dave starts awake, dropping the book.]
Dave: Jeez... Who's door-knocking at this time of night?
[Yawning and stretching, he gets to his head and crosses to the hallway.]
Dave: Nearly tomorrow. Then I'll have got through another day. Oh, let joy be unconfined.
[There is another knocking. Dave starts.]
Dave: Man, I need some prozac. I am tense. [calls] Yeah, yeah, I'm coming...
[He opens the doors. There's nothing there. Dave peers out of the door, keeping his body inside the house.]
Dave: OK, this is either a youtube prank or a serial killer. I don't know which is more frightening. Fee, fi, fo, fum... Heh... Phe... Phoebe...
[A voice seems to whisper: "Phoebe".]
Dave: Fuck this.
[He slams the doors shut and lock them. Panting to calm down, he hurries back to the living room. He crosses to Nigel's door and tries it. Locked. He tries Andrew's silo.]
Dave: Are you in there?
[Another knocking. Dave whirls to look at the glass-fronted patio doors.]
Dave: That's not the wind... is it?
[Swallowing, he cautiously opens the patio door. An Indian Minah hops inside.]
Dave: Oh Christ. An Indian Minah. Canetoads with wings. Bugger off, go on.
[The bird doesn't move.]
Dave: What, are you trained or something? Do you have a name?
Dave: Well, don't expect to be friends with me, pal. I can barely keep the ones I've got now. Do us a favor and cut to the chase. What you say?
Dave: No wonder people don't keep you as pets. Give me a budgie any day of the week.
Dave: Are you taking the piss or something? Get out! Shoo! [sniffs] What's that smell? Did you crap somewhere? Oh well, at least it'll take my mind of things...
Dave: Like some flying pest like you will keep me distracted for long. What's the point? What is the freaking point, Mr. Indian Minah? Tell me that.
Dave: Exactly. There's no point. I'm never going to see her again, am I?
Dave: Why the hell am I asking you? I bet you don't even know what I'm talking about, do you?
Dave: You're deaf, aren't you? AREN'T YOU, YOU DEAF FEATHERED BASTARD!
[Dave kicks the Indian Minah and it flutters off. He slams the doors.]
Dave: I am never telling anyone about this. It would be a crap anecdote. And even worse poem...