Called Andre The Giant in school: ironically for his small height, his grotesqueness, or just for his name, he still wonders.
The grotesqueness is in his long skinny fingers and his beady eyes. Like a spider.
Andre The Giant Spider.
He has many birds – 40 or more that continue to multiply from eggs hatched in fruit bowls and between scrunched up TAB tickets and Andre The Giant Spider slinks around on broken egg shells all day on his long spider legs.
He doesn’t care to know how many he has, or how many more. He thinks of them not individually but as a mass. One Giant Bird. There are Three Masses – The One Giant Bird, himself, and The Rest.
He is there with his arms outstretched and his pointy fingers now covered in birds. As though he is feathered like the rest of the mass. He flexes his fingers up and down, silently flapping his giant wings. And then he is the first mass, and there are only two – One Giant Bird and The Rest.