You're struck by the need to look at a picture of a poet. Some words come to mind:
"But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing."
Just as you recall the words, a jet black raven cuts through the air, and a gilded cage falls to the ground, most definitely broken. The raven does not sing, neither are its wings clipped - but it settles on the tarmac in front of you and gives you a piercing stare.
It seems churlish to return to what seems to be normal here, but you're sat in a car, holding a picture, and a big black bird is doing its best to block your car from making any moves workward. What to do, what to do?