The Unvoiced Consonant

A traumatised bank teller from the East End, a US postal worker with itchy feet, an Australian fleeing a crime, a Kiwi obsessed with body parts, a student yearning for his heritage and a closet poet who has been stuck on the same three lines since 1973:

Oh! to be an insect that was not in any way appealing to a bird.
Alas! I must transform.
Forsooth! These mandrils they do appear to be firmly fixed …

Five loud-soft voices, seven trips into the past, at least thirty pigeons, frequent conversatio...