Tanning With Pigeons

     Matt realized the other day that his freckles are the only tan spots on his body. Since the weather is warming, he decided it was time to get a tan. He has a morbid fear of being trapped inside a tanning bed though, and dying inside (he can picture the attendants finding him frittered to a crisp, mouth open in a kind of silent scream two days later). So he opted to skip out on the tanning salon. Instead he decided to lie out, white trash style, on the driveway.

     Wearing his plaid design, orange bathing suit, and candy cane red sunglasses, Matt spread his green towel across the uneven, jagged driveway. He tried to pick a spot with less pebbles and where the weeds didn't poke through the cracks so much, because he doesn't own one of those fancy lounge, pool chairs like his Grandma's rich neighbors, the Lindquists. They have a swimming pool, complete with a diving board and Matt used to peer through the wrought iron fence in his Grandma's backyard, in a longing manner while they swam and drank iced lemonade by the poolside. If he waited long enough, and had a pathetic enough look on his face, the Lindquists would eventually invite him over to swim, out of pity. His Grandma used to get so mad at him! But this is besides the point, and Matt is getting off track. Back to the story now-

     He then applied a generous amount of sunscreen to his shnozz, as his Dumbledore nose tends to catch quite a bit of sun. As Matt hunkered down on his driveway, at the edge of a busy road where the cars never stop going through the night, he wondered what the passing drivers would think when they viewed a guy lying on the cement, trying to tan in a sexy manner on a very ghetto driveway next to the garbage bins.

     Matt tried to tune out the noise of the exterior world, however, and simply allow the sun's rays to saturate his ghostly white skin. He was enjoying the serenity of the moment, and singing- I'm gonna soak up the sun, by Sheryl Crow, in an enthusiastic manner. And then he heard it. Something horrifying; the kind of thing he hears only in nightmares.

     His skin suddenly prickling, Matt's fight or flight mode instantly took over. Sitting up quickly, he ripped his sunglasses off and looked to the source of the noise. Directly above him came a small coo-ing. Feeling revolted, he looked up at his arch nemesis, the insidious albino pigeon, as it sat perched on the electrical wire.

     Matt immediately gagged and threw up in his mouth a little at the sight. The pigeon spread his wings, shaking them out and Matt nearly had a coronary from fright. His immediate desire was to flee to his house. Feeling that this might hurt his pride though, and not wanting to lose to the pigeon, Matt picked up his towel and began shaking it roughly, trying to scare his enemy off. The bird simply cocked his head to the side, and looked at Matt questioningly.

     Next, Matt began barking like a dog, shaking his towel all the more furiously. Again, his enemy simply gazed on. Feeling annoyed, Matt slowly backed up, (one should never turn one's back to an opponent). Never breaking his eye contact with the bird, he noticed a large chunk of wood lying in the driveway, and hurriedly snatched it up. He now had a weapon.

     Feeling much more brave, Matt approached the bird again, holding the wood like a baseball bat in case it decided to attack. The bird looked at him in a bored fashion though, and let out a vile poo on Matt's driveway. It was now mocking him.
   
     Taking careful aim, Matt stuck his tongue out in concentration and threw the wood hunk with all his might towards the bird. There was a loud squawk as the board hit the wire mere inches away from the pigeon, causing the wire to wobble dangerously. Matt laughed loudly as the pigeon took flight. As the thing retreated he hollered- "Ya that's right, skiddle along you little piddle!" He sure showed the bird who was boss...
   
     As Matt recollects the experience, he realizes that he grew a little bit inside that day. He had stood up to the bully; the mean spirited boy who rules every playground. The one named Jeremy or Bubba or Jafar. The one who pins his victims up against the brick wall, fists bared, until they empty their pockets of their bubble-tape and star-bursts. Only this bully was worse; it was a pigeon...

     And now as Matt writes the story, chest red from the sun, he feels a bit proud inside.