A woman sits at a desk at noon.

A crow watches from the garden.

The woman’s cheek rests on one hand and the other hand rests on the desk.

The crow thinks he hears something.

Later, when the woman’s husband arrives home she will tell him she was working on her book, he will smile and tell her how wonderful that is and he looks forward to reading the new material.

She’ll serve up a roast.

He’ll wonder why they have roasts on Tuesdays.

He likes her work, he really does; it’s easy to read and occasionally charming.

On the train to work he sits with her manuscripts.

She reminds him that he could just read it on his iPad but he waves his hand and says it’s too much fuss.

A man on the train asks what it is he’s reading with all those pages and he

tells him they’re from his wife’s novel.

The man does that face where the mouth curls down and

the eyebrows go up.

He thinks to ask if it’s any good but decides not to.