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‘Yes,' said Adam. He pointed to the computer. ‘Could I have your e-mail address, in case...'

Jane had parked the Rover in the No Standing Zone outside the pet shop. She called instructions to Paul through the open driver's window. ‘See if he's got keys to the place.'

Paul stood on the footpath, still trying to calm her. ‘Let's just meet him and you know, gain his trust. He might let us in.'

‘Be much quicker to put a gun to his head and make him.'

‘Can we try it my way first? For once.'

Jane looked past him urgently.

Paul swung around to see him coming from the pet shop with a birdcage under a hood. ‘Hey, don't I know you?'

Adam looked at the guy and then the girl in the car.

‘We're neighbours! I thought it was you,' said the guy.

‘Flat one?' said Adam.

‘Hey, what a small world, huh?'

The girl called, ‘Hey, want a ride, man?' She was doing something strange with her eyebrows, sitting behind the wheel of a car that looked familiar.

Adam looked at the birdcage and then to the guy who was opening the back door of the Rover as though it was a limousine. ‘So, um a bird, huh? Wow.'

‘Thanks, um, people,' said Adam, getting in the back with the birdcage. ‘Lucky for me I bumped into you.'

‘I'm Paul, this is Jane,' said Paul.

‘Adam.'

Paul swivelled around and looked at the hooded cage and then to Adam. ‘You like whales?'

‘Not in a cage,' said Adam.

Paul didn't smile. He became more focused. ‘How about dolphins? Don't tell me you hate dolphins.'

‘I don't hate whales. Or dolphins. I've got nothing against fish.'

‘How about baby seals?'

‘I thought we were talking about fish.'

‘We're talking about all kinds of creatures, I guess.'

‘Well, I must admit, I haven't really thought about them, but I have a pretty positive feeling about baby seals.'

Paul turned to the driver, ‘See, didn't I tell you Jane? I had a feeling we'd have a lot in common with this guy and we do.'

‘Yeah, and we live right next door to each other.'

Paul said, ‘Jane and I met on a protest against live sheep exports. I was organising the picket line. I look up, and there she is – chained to the gangway. And I thought what a ... caring person. What courage. You know what – Jane's action alone forced them to unload that ship and send the sheep right back to the abattoir. Their suffering ended.'

‘I come from a farm,' said Adam.

‘What?' said Paul.

‘From the country. Where the sheep come from.'

‘Oh,' said Jane, looking at him with narrowed eyes in the rear-vision mirror.

‘Hey,' said Paul, ‘maybe they were your sheep we saved.'

‘Anyway,' said Jane, ‘So, do you work at the post office?'

‘Yeah, how did you...?'

Paul said, ‘I saw you come out, um when we were, um ... um...'

‘Eating our burgers,' said Jane.

‘Oh, yeah. See.' Paul lifted an old-looking McDonald's bag delicately between thumb and forefinger and then carefully returned it to his lap.

The Rover turned into their little street.

‘The post office,' Jane said.

‘Yes,' said Adam.

Paul asked, ‘Are they real bastards? Do they try to grind you down, as though you're a little cog in the giant machine?'

‘It's clerical work, so ... it's the post office.'

They pulled up outside the flats.

‘Take the food in, Paul,' she said and turned to look at Adam.

Paul stayed.

‘Thanks for the ride,' said Adam. ‘Sure beats the bus.'

‘Paul, get out.'

Adam started to open his door.

‘Wait,' she ordered Adam. ‘Wait, Adam. I'll be right in, Paul.'

Paul got out of the car, carefully carrying their dinner.

Jane said, ‘It must be exciting.'

‘Sorry?'

‘It must be exciting where you work.'

Adam looked at her to see if she was teasing. She didn't look like she was. It looked like she was trying to crack onto him.

She said, ‘Being at the hub of all that communication. The holder of so many people's ... important things.'

‘It's the post office!'

‘To think you live right next door.' She leaned over the seat and touched Adam on the arm.

Paul was outside, hovering.

She said, ‘Listen, do you think you could show me round one night? I'd love to see how such a huge thing works.' She licked her lips and looked down at Adam's crotch.

‘I'm sorry. There's a lot of security and stuff. People send cheques and valuables. A civilian – no.' Adam scrambled out of the car.

Jane turned to Paul who was standing by her window. She said, ‘That's what I thought.'

Adam leaned in and grabbed the covered birdcage and dragged it out.

Paul said, ‘What about wrongly addressed mail?'

Adam looked at him.

‘Another time,' said Jane.

‘What do you mean?' Adam asked Paul.

‘Nothing,' said Paul. ‘See you round, dude.' Paul went back to the car.

Adam got a couple of steps up the path carrying the birdcage when he turned and said, ‘Did Howard send you?'

They didn't hear. They seemed to be arguing.

‘This will be your new home,' said Adam, unlocking the door to flat two. ‘I hope you like living with us. Chris,' he called, turning on lights. ‘I've got a surprise for you.'

‘Please, no more bells.'

Adam took the birdcage over to Chris's table. ‘Must be lonely here all day. I thought you'd like a little company.' Adam whisked the cover from the new bird's cage with a flourish like a conjuring trick.

The two birds looked at each other without moving.

Adam said, ‘This is Chris. Chris, um, what shall we call her? She?'

‘The cat's mother?' offered Chris.

Adam watched the two birds looking at each other. ‘Love takes time, I guess.' He went to his computer and turned it on.

Chris walked along his wooden perch towards the other cage.

‘Let's get one thing straight from the beginning, fella,' said Antigone. ‘You bring your little vent anywhere near my wing and I'll peck it off. You got that?'

‘Excuse me. Did I miss something? You assume way too much about your personal charms there, honey.'

‘Don't call me honey.'

‘I'm not calling you at all.'

‘Fine.'

‘Fine.' Chris started to move back toward the centre of the cage, but then stopped. ‘And I'll move anywhere in my cage I feel like, thank you very much.'

Adam's computer monitor glowed. He clicked on e-mails, and typed in the e-mail address Evelyn had given him. Then his face dropped. ‘Dreams,' he said finally, but the keyboard remained untapped.

There was a knock on the door. Adam went reluctantly, hoping it wasn't Paul and Jane. He looked through the little eyehole and saw that it was Harry, wet and in a dirty towel. He opened the door.

‘Adam. Need your help again.' Harry looked past Adam and then walked in, forcing Adam to retreat as he came. ‘You got a cleaner or something?'

‘No?' Adam looked around his flat. It was perhaps time to get some pictures or knickknacks. Now he thought about it, it was time to buy some food.

Harry said, ‘Two canaries, huh?'

‘Yes. Company.'

Harry turned to look at Adam, shaking his head, sadly.

‘For the other canary,' said Adam quickly.

‘And how you doing on that front?'

‘Well, if you have to know ... well to be fair, that talk we had the other night helped. I've taken the plunge.'

‘Good for you.'

‘I've actualised my dreams. Nearly.'

Harry leaned into Adam, shoulder to shoulder, and nudged him like a friendly ram. ‘I knew you had it in you. Or in her.'

‘Harry, it's not like that.'

‘Call me Jake.'

‘She's not some piece of meat. She's not a computer game. I'm interested in her as a person. It's got nothing to do with sex.'

‘Everything's to do with sex. Everything. No. You're right. Gently, gently, catchee monkey. Then when she's lulled, you jump her and go for it.'

‘I'm not an animal!' Adam walked away from Harry for some steps. He looked down at his hands, and noticed he was clenching and unclenching his fists.

He felt Harry pat him on the shoulder. ‘You need to get laid, Adam. You're gunna implode. Come on and help me with my yacht. I want to get my mast up.'

Adam turned to see Harry heading for the door. There was a puddle where he'd been standing.

‘No. I'm not going to unless you apologise.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘You don't mean it.'

‘Oh, I gotta mean it now. You want me to bring flowers? You know what? You're starting to sound like a bloody woman.'

‘I'm not helping you.'

Harry looked hurt, but then stood tall. ‘And fuck you too, you little pussy.' He left, slamming the door behind him.

Adam looked at the door then looked at his computer. Then he sighed and went to bed.

A mail sorter on the night shift wheeled a canvas trolley to the conveyor belt. He tossed some letters and then leant down to grab another package.

‘Jesus H. Christ!' he wheezed as he struggled to get the very heavy box onto the conveyor belt. It ground its wheels and cogs struggling before whirring back into life. ‘Oughta be a law against it,' said the sorter.

In a clearing in the bush, a large bower has been built from postal items. Envelopes. Ribbons. Stamps. Postal packs. Official stickers. Lacky bands.

Adam stumbles into the clearing, and stands looking at this intricate construction.

Evelyn steps out from behind the bower. She is dressed in the bright colours of a Spanish dancer, black and flowing red. She strides, her arms bent out behind her like wings. A guitar plays. Her arms swirl. Her back arches. Her legs open and flex. It is flamenco, and she dances her arms around him.

Adam stands before her, his shirt now gone, his nipples hardening in a new breeze. Drums join the guitar. Jungle drums.

Evelyn begins to swirl her whole body, her arms spinning and swaying and turning, but her head always returning to gaze fiercely at
Adam. She lifts the red of her skirt, swooshing it back and forward showing her knees. And higher. And still the stare fixing Adam where he stands, frozen.

She comes forward, her face flushed and beaded, inches from his face. She is panting. The guitar stops. The drums grow louder, faster. She bends, her tongue out, bending still, slowly, towards his nipple. The drums stop. Evelyn stops there centimetres from his nipple. She looks up at him, wounded. She says, ‘I don't want to.'

Adam sits up in bed. He's panting, sweating, shirtless. He looks towards the ceiling. Drums, but not above.

The crash of a rubbish bin turns him towards the window where an orange light sweeps across the sill and curtains. There is a whoosh of truck air brakes.

Adam looks out to see the garbage truck coming up the hill. The garbos troop from behind. The butch girl is there, dressed in her usual blue singlet and shorts. The other garbos are women too, in overalls, or black leather jackets. They march forward, swinging clenched fists. Piano joins the drums, lyrical. The women garbos sing ‘There is Nothin' Like a Dame' from
South Pacific.
The butch garbo girl sings about letters and packages as she dances with each of the other women, mirroring movement, caressing a cheek. Letters begin to shoot up from the back of the garbage truck like paper tracer bullets.

The top of the truck lifts now and velvet carpeted stairs descend. Skinny men in white suits and white top hats wave canes as they dance down the sides of the stairs in full Busby Berkeley, as the butch girl dances up, between the lines. Violins begin. The male voices are replaced by female vocals, singing the next verse of ‘There's Nothin' Like a Dame'.

Something is rising out of the top of the garbage truck. A circular dais on a pole.

The men line the edges of the stairs, pointing up with their canes. The women in overalls and leather jackets down on their knees, hands raised toward the dais like a Mississippi church chorus.

Evelyn is tethered to the pole on the dais, a chain going to a studded choker. Her flimsy dress is torn. The butch girl reaches her.
The violins cease. Drums speed to frenzy.

Adam stands transfixed in his flat, lit orange in the glow from outside.

The butch girl raises a sacrificial knife.

Adam sat up in bed once again, panting, terrified. He ran to the window. They were not there. There was only the Rover parked in the street with a cat sleeping on the bonnet.

Adam went to the lounge and turned on his computer again determined to do something about his dreams, especially the unsettling ones. He sat and looked at the bluish blank screen.

Both birds blinked in the strange light. Chris looked through the bars of the two cages and found Antigone. ‘Do you dream?'

She turned and looked at him for a little while. ‘Yes.'

‘Are your dreams scary?'

‘I often dream about my father's death, which is very strange because I was incubated.'

‘There is a cat. I don't mean cats. I mean a specific cat. Out there. It's got my number. I can't explain. I just know, like a dream. Like there's no difference between the present and the future. Our paths are ... indivisible. It is.'

‘Could be Jungian. Maybe Freudian. Are you afraid of women?'

Chris looked towards the window. ‘I'm afraid of cats.'

In flat number one, it was dark. The bed was squeaking quietly but rhythmically. Suddenly the bedside light was turned on and Jane sat up looking at Paul who lay frozen in a somewhat awkward position.