‘There you are, then,’ said Crowley, sitting back. ‘Whole sea bubbling, poor old dolphins so much seafood gumbo, no one giving a damn. Same with gorillas. Whoops, they say, sky gone all red, stars crashing to ground, what they putting in the bananas these days? And then—’ ‘They make nests, you know, gorillas,’ said the angel, pouring another drink and managing to hit the glass on the third go. ‘Nah.’ ‘God’s truth. Saw a film. Nests.’ ‘That’s birds,’ said Crowley. ‘Nests,’ insisted Aziraphale. Crowley decided not to argue the point.
