In Which I Meet a Pigeon With a Rather High Class Fashion Sense

I never knew that birds could have a better eye for clothes than I could. 

I mean, I'm not being racist or anything! Wait, would it be called being racist? Or pigeon-ist? No matter, I could be dreaming or something but I could have sworn when I bought that five dollar sweater from the thrift store, the pigeon pecking away at the ground scoffed at me. SCOFFED at me! A human-like scoff from a pigeon.

I did a double take. What the heck? I leaned down to the asphalt, the five-dollar sweater draped over my arm like a towel. I came face to face with the bird but instead of flapping away like most, normal pigeons, it just stared back at me. I looked into its eyes which weren't a normal amber like most pigeons. The eyes were a deep blue, like the depths of the sky. I was mesmerized by the shade of blue that was this bird's eyes. I would have kept staring, getting lost in the irises when it squawked. 

"Hey! It's rude to stare!" Let me tell you, I just about had a heart attack. 

"W-what?" I stuttered, shocked that the bird could talk, much less speak English. 

"I said," the bird repeated, "It's rude to stare!" I was at a loss for words. The pigeon walked around, saw the sweater and grabbed from my arm. That snapped me out of my shock.

"Hey!" I shouted, "That's mine!"

"This?" the pigeon scoffed again, "This is a sorry excuse for a sweater." I stood up and glared down at it. It started to walk off, dragging my sweater behind it.

"Stop ruining my sweater! I spent a solid five dollars on it!" The pigeon stopped its path and snorted quite rudely at me. 

"Oh, honey it was ruined when you bought it. This has a rightful place in the dumpster." The pigeon continued to drag the sweater in the direction of a large green dumpster, rusted and dented from many years of use. 

"Stop it!" I caught up to the pigeon in a few quick strides, then scooped up the pigeon and the sweater. It screeched in annoyance.

"Help! Help! I'm caught in terrible knitting and cheap prices!"

"Who are you! Why can you talk? What is with you and bashing my sweater?" I snapped.

"I can answer one out of those three questions," said the pigeon, "Your sweater is FUGLY." 

I snarled a bit under my breath and wrapped the sweater tighter around the pigeon, but not too tight as to suffocate it. The pigeon looked extremely displeased. 

"Let me out of this 50% off garbage heap of yarn, you hooligan!"

"Oh yeah?" I growled, "You want freedom? Answer my questions!" The pigeon looked exasperated. 

"Ok fine. As long as you promise to set me free of this old and itchy dumpster worthy contraption. And I'll take you shopping for REAL sweaters at a REAL store." I blinked.

"Ok, but I'm a broke college student. How are you-"

"Don't question it," the pigeon snapped, "Now. . . erm, what were the questions?"

"Who are you?" I repeated slowly, "And how can you talk?" The pigeon squirmed and ruffled its feathers. 

"My name is 'none of your business'," it replied sassily. I tightened the sweater and it squawked with indignance, "Fine! My name is Micheal. I was a really good designer when I got mixed up with a magician who stole my money and turned me into a pigeon. Now, will you pleeaaasee let me go?"  I thought about it. The pigeon -no, sorry- Michael seemed to be rather genuine about his story. I hoped this wouldn't get me involved in a save-the-world-or-save-the-pigeon ultimatum. Like some kind of anime. On drugs. An anime on crack cocaine with the two heroes being a broke college student and a pigeon with an astute fasion sense. 

"Ok, well I suppose you filled your end of the deal," I said, "But before I let you go will this give me some kind of fantasy adventure that ends in me sacrificing my life for some stupid reason?"

"No of course not!" the pigeon shook his head, "The magician's just a jerkwad. I can track him down and convince him to change me back via food." I nodded then set the sweater down and Michael flapped about ten meters away. 

"Eugh!" he gagged, "That sweater is the grossest thing I have ever had the displeasure of interacting with!" I stood, took my sweater and returned it to its rightful place draped over my arm. 

"Well, I'm off," I said, "I have school and-"

"Oh no you don't!" exclaimed Michael. I stopped and sighed. 

"What now?"

"We're going shopping," he said puffing out his chest, "To get you some real clothes so you look absolutely fantabulous!" He took off and flapped his way down the street. I opened my mouth to yell but then realized he was almost out of earshot. I started to run after him, the five-dollar sweater flapping in my arm. I couldn't believe what I was doing. I was running after a pigeon named Michael to take me shopping for what he thought was "real clothes". I shook my head as I ran and smiled. 

This was not how I thought my day would go.