In the center of Union Square sat an older man with a stretched-out tie-dye shirt and eyebrows like drowning caterpillars. When a passerby walked near him, he’d smile and wave until that person noticed, then abruptly scowl, spinning his hand around and raising his crooked middle finger.
Unbeknownst to the man, a young girl watched him. Eventually, she neared and asked, “Excuse me mister, what are you doing?”
Startled, he looked at her vaguely. “Flipping birds,” he said, his voice strangely high.
“See those ugly pigeons? I’m warning people about them. Someday you’ll understand how dangerous they are.”