He had a sulphur-crested cockatoo perched on his forearm. “Oh, hello again,” I said. To Truck, not the bird. The large bird squawked, his yellow crest perked right up. “What the fuck do you want?” I was stunned. Truck laughed. “This is Hooker. He has no manners, sorry.” I was still startled at the language and the decibels with which it was delivered.
