Trekhprudny Lane

The crow has gone to live with a dozen of her (as it turns out) fellows, at a bird clinic far out in the desolate suburbs, in the basement of an old bloc of apartments, where medicines are kept in a jumble of lidless, dark glass vials and the exam table is an ancient green steel military stretcher, and where owls, seagulls, fish, sparrows, parrots, turtles, kittens, and even a small crocodile bide their time behind bars and beneath heat lamps. I am officially on the lookout for another orphan.