"What are you doing in here?" I say, loudly enough for the older woman in the green parka to turn around and look at me.
"Sorry," I say to her, pointing up. "I'm talking to the bird up there," referring to the sparrow that somehow got into the store and is now fluttering madly, open beaked, against the highest window in a desperate bid to escape.
"He just needs to calm down and come a little lower," she says, sagely, "then he could fly right out the door."