You really should stop feeding these flyin’ rats, Ian!
The two old men sat on the bench, just as they did pretty much every day the weather allowed them to. The park was the perfect spot, to say the least, to keep an eye on all the neighbourhood’s whereabouts.
And keeping up to date with everything going on in their town was the elders’ favorite hobby.
Ian dug into the paper bag on his lap, grabbing a handful of dry bread crumbs to throw to the pidgeons. A loud wing flapping sound shortly followed, as the birds hurried to get their share of the loot.
And why exactly should I stop? Is there a law against sharing my bread leftovers with the local wildlife?
Within a couple of seconds, the crumbs were all gone.
You know people have been talking…
Ian tipped the bag upside down, spreading the last bits on the ground, followed by a sudden crowding just by his feet.
Well… Let people talk. I don’t care.
He paused and shoved the paper bag in his pocket.
Face it, Con… You’re just grumpy because they didn’t pick your idea to name this park.
Just a couple of weeks prior, the town had had a survey to give the neighbourhood’s park a proper name. Everyone had their say, and of course, Ian and Conrad had participated, with little success.
Ian giggled, knowing how the deceiving votes had mined his friend’s mood.
Rome… Come on! Just because ”All roads lead to”… That’s just silly.
The pidgeon flock flied away, seeking for another source of food. The park name didn’t matter all that much in the area. But somewhere in the neighbourhood, someone enjoyed knowing their idea had found their way.
Democracy had won… Pidgeons didn’t care.