‘You alright Darren?’
He’s sat on a park bench, surrounded by scattered seeds and a band of pigeons.
‘Yeah mate,’ Darren says.
He’s had it rough these past two years. Lost his cat. Roof fell in. Mam died.
‘What you up to?’
Darren glances up, then returns his gaze to the middle distance.
‘Assimilating.’
‘Assimilating?’
‘Yeah. Breaking bread. Learning their culture.’
‘The pigeons?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Right.’
Darren scratches his nose. ‘Social engineering mate, only way we’ll get em. Too crafty for us. Too many to fight. But if you can get on in inside, part the kimono, then fella, we’re into the biscuit tin, you know what I mean? Only way we’re going to survive.’
‘Survive what?’
‘The endgame. What they want.’
‘Right. Who’s “they?” The pigeons?’
Darren looks at him as if he’s insane. ‘No. Obviously not. It’s the elites. The big five. The family. Shadow council. You know?’
‘Yeah, okay. Listen, am I alright to borrow that drill still?’
‘Yeah of course.’
‘Sound. You going pub later?’
Darren scatters more seed and the pigeons flap around him. ‘In a bit.’
Paddy Dobson
26th August 2021