I have a way of collecting things. Baubles and butterfly wings and loose ends. People describe me as crow-like, raven-esque, but it's a ridiculous description. I can't fly and I have no beak. I can't say anything about the hollow bones though. That's just how I was born.

Collecting and serving some purpose all at once. It's wonderful. Stockpiles of shiny and rusted and smooth and sometimes fleshy. People like throwing their ears away. I'm not sure why. The last thing they hear is the gurgling in my stomach because I need something to weigh me down. Hollow bones.

I save the quarters in a little box labeled "Hapless". I need something, somethings to keep my toes firmly entangled in grass and weeds. Solid and floaty. Real abstractions.

Ears and gravity.