The Bird"Found a bird in delta." I say. John doesn't stir, so I repeat. "Said a bird flew in. Little scrawny thing, but it got in." "Can't of." "What I thought. But it did." I can hear John stretch out in the bunk above me, the ancient springs groaning as his body and muscles shift across them. "Where's the leak?" "Sally's looking. Be in delta though - can't of got through a bulkhead." "Better not be delta two." I nod, because neither of us want it in delta two. "What sort of bird?" "Little scrawny bastard, don't know. Could look him up." John swings himself off the top bunk, and sits down on the end of my bed to do his boots up. "Nah. Still loose?" "Think so." "Hope he gets out." And then we laugh, because it's just such a normal thing to think, because birds should be out, shouldn't they?