"You're a good friend, Carl."

The gravelly voiced man on the bus was talking on the phone and he said it no less than ten times. "You're a good friend, Carl."

I wondered to myself what had Carl done to receive such effusive praise. And could I get to know Carl? I could use a good friend.

Carl and me- eating eggs, grabbing a brewski, podcasting.  

I got off the bus and walked around downtown, aimlessly- but I took steps with purpose, in case someone I know saw me then they'd think I had somewhere to be. I took out a sketch pad and plopped down on a bench under a tree.  I tried to draw some pigeons, but they wouldn't hold still, and I don't know how to draw. 

At some moment one of the pigeons walked over towards me. I had no seeds, bread, or Alka Seltzer to give him. He waddled over to my worn left boot and looked at me squarely.  He opened his mouth and out came a fully formed English sentence.

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"Would you like to meet Carl?"

I looked around for a camera. This was most certainly a prank. "Excuse me?" I asked.

"Would you like to meet Carl? I can get you into the Carlverse."

"I, um, don't know what the Carlverse is or who Carl is."

"You heard one of my colleagues today on the bus, no? You'd like a good friend, wouldn't you?"

I again inspected the pigeon for a speaker, but how did he know I heard about Carl today? I found this situation odd.  Now, this is the moment where you- my dear gentle reader- may say to yourself, "Walk, no! Run away from the talking pigeon!" But I must admit this was a bit of a low point in my life and my interests sometimes piqued in unconventional situations.

"How do I meet Carl?" I asked. 

"A wise choice, I will contact you later this evening with all the information you'll need. Go about your normal business and routine.  I'll see you later."

With that the pigeon took off.  As he flapped up and away one of the nesting Peregrine falcons zipped over like lightning and nabbed my guy, leaving a plume of feathers floating unceremoniously to the ground. He was carried off to her nest.  Probably going to be shredded up for the babies. Dead as a doorknob. Or door nail? However the saying goes I supposed my chance to meet Carl was over. 

So... I went about my day.  I started to doubt what I had seen.  Must've been something I ate. No chance that happened.  Right?

Later that evening I heard a gentle rapping on my bedroom window.