“Connection, man.Connectionfucking sucks. I have attack pigeons, dude.”
I frowned. “I don’t know what that means.”
“He’s talking about Silas,” Ashes said as Asylum danced away and air humped a chair, all while singing some little song about not being crazy.
“So he’s not accurate right now?” Evan asked.
Ashes shook his head and looked at Evan. “Unfortunately, no. But, if you’re interested in a pigeon, he does have one in his coat pocket, so it would be real cool if you guys would take it because I really don’t want a fucking pet pigeon.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t fucking want one.”
“Same,” Evan muttered.
“Asylum, man, hey!” Ashes shouted as Asylum wandered over to a younger couple trying to eat.
“Hey, you like birds, baby?” he slurred out.
“Um, ew,” the girl said.
“Man, back the fuck up,” the guy snapped.
“Hey, bird basher,” Asylum said. “You’re kind of a dick.”
The guy stood, kicked his chair back, and shoved Asylum in the chest.
“Fuck,” Ashes snarled, shooting forward.
We stood back, watching as the man lunged for Asylum again. Despite being wasted as hell, he dove away, laughing. The fight was more comical than violent, because Asylum jumped onto a table, crouched, and waited for the guy to come at him again as Ashes tried to coax him to leave.
Our order came out, and we took it. The guy handing it to us looked mesmerized by the psycho in a black fishnet top, long black trench coat, and black leather pants, crouching on a table while making bird noises and flapping his arms.
“Are we going to watch this?” Evan murmured.
“Oh yeah,” I answered softly, watching the guy shove Ashes aside and go for Asylum again.
“Come on, chicken boy!” Asylum howled.
The man surged forward, and Asylum dug into his coat pockets before all hell broke loose.
He pulled out three pigeons and let them go. Feathers flew. The man screamed as the birds went for his face. Asylum cackled before jumping off the table and rushing away.
“I’m the motherfucking bird whisperer, bitch!” The door dinged as he ran out into the night, Ashes running after him.
We looked back at the man fighting the pigeons.
“He really did have attack pigeons,” I said, nodding.
“Fuck, get me home, man,” Evan muttered.
4
ANSON
“Can’t sleep?” I asked as I stepped into the living room later that night to find Ryder sitting on the couch in the dark. I noted his bags were packed by the door.
“Counting down until I’m out of here,” he muttered.
I sighed and went to him.
