A Pelican Out of Place

 

Here’s the thing, no matter which way I went along the storefronts, the pelican kept watching me.  My day spent in this little beach town was becoming very uncomfortable.  Was this some very odd bird or was it a robotic spy watching for shoplifters, I couldn’t tell. I crossed the street, pretending to admire a rack of straw hats, but when I glanced up, there it was—perched atop the ice cream parlor sign, its enormous beak angled slightly downward like it knew something I didn’t.

I tried walking faster, cutting through the alley behind the surf shop. It smelled like sunscreen and wet cardboard, and I thought I’d lost it for good. But when I emerged on the next block, there it was again—this time sitting on the hood of a parked golf cart, just watching.

I wasn’t stealing. I hadn’t even touched anything. But I started to feel guilty anyway. Maybe it was the way its eyes never blinked.

At this point, I had two options: confront the bird—or leave town and never look back.  I chose the third option.  I bought a straw hat.  Now we’ll see if it’s me he still watches.

 

 

 to be continued