The wind was light but cold on this late fall day, with the leaves occasionally rustling along the ground on this little stretch of Central Park. Mac could almost forget he was in big bustling New York City, hidden behind the trees beside him.
Mac had finished arranging the chess pieces on the table in front of him and already regretted that he left his gloves in his little apartment in Brooklyn.
It was Sunday afternoon, and he was waiting for Ismail to show up for their weekly chest match. Mac had promised the old man a trashing after losing the last time.
Mac looked at his watch, his friend was ten minutes late. Very peculiar, the old veteran was always at least 5 minutes early with military precision.
He kept waiting but started to get worried. In ten years, they had never missed a match.
Mac’s mind started running through all the various scenarios that could be transpiring; being arrested for going out without putting his pants on, getting smashed by those crazy new driverless cars.
His wild imagination got interrupted by a pigeon landing right on the table in front of him, knocking a few pieces off the board as it swung around to face him.
Startled, he looked at it, as it looked back at him and seemed to be pointing its head towards its right leg.
His eyes wide open, Mac could see there was a piece of paper tied to its leg. Since the bird seemed to want him to notice, it seemed completely understandable that he should grab the message from the bird. It didn’t struggle or move as he did, but flew away once had had it in his hands.
Alone again at his park side chess table, he looked around. Did that really happen to him? He was left with a little scroll of paper in his hands, which he stared at for a full minute as his mind was adjusting to this strange event.
He pulled it open, and before he could even start reading it, he was interrupted again as a hand grabbed his shoulder.
“Quick Sir, we must go.” A young man’s voice was urgently prodding Mac to go with him.
Still sitting in his spot, clutching the little piece of paper in his fist, Mac started to protest. “Go where? I’m waiting for a friend.” This was beginning to be all too much for him.