As Merk Sampedro got onto the streetcar, he saw The Birdperson… so Merk began the trudge of dread towards his acquaintance.
He’d first seen The Birdperson a month ago.
Initially, he’d felt empathy for The Birdperson, who then, as today, had been simultaneously ignored but also given a wide, deliberate berth by fellow passengers.
The Birdperson had tracked him the entire length of the streetcar. “Hello!” he said, opening up a granola bar. “How are you?”
As usual, The Birdperson didn’t talk, just cocked its head, staring. “Nice to see you again,” Merk continued. Suddenly, The Birdperson darted across the aisle and “alighted” next to him, pecking at the granola bar and also gently cooing at his cheek.
“Wow,” said Merk, stammering. “This is… okay… that’s nice of you.”
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And as the 504 approached King and Jarvis, The Birdperson suddenly pulled down its sweatpants, crapped on the seat (and part of Merk’s shoulder) and squeezed itself out the open window, rather than take the door with the other passengers.
Slightly dazed, Merk did his best to clean up the mess on his shoulder as an old Italian lady gave him the hairy eyeball from 3 rows over.
“Atsa why you doa’na feed-ah those-ah dirty tings,” she tsked.
