The story started, as all stories do, with a change.

The day was just a day and then it wasn't. The thing wasn't there and then it was. The park was quiet and then it was loud. The pigeons were settled in and then they weren't. The winos were oblivious and then they weren't. Well, that's not strictly true. The three winos didn't change until later. For the moment, the three winos remained in their chosen state: intoxicated oblivion.

The day wasn't like the ones that preceded it. Nor was it like the ones that followed. For that day, right in the middle, the thing was there. A wail rose up from the thing into the park. The wail was unlike anything the pigeons had ever heard. The sound lifted the birds as one from their perches on benches and statues and as the sound subsided, so did the pigeons. The winos did not react.

When the day was pierced again, the birds shot off in every direction but down. The scream held and the pigeons hovered. Then quiet. Landing. Settling. Acclimation. When the sound came back, only one pigeon took flight. A curious pigeon. The one curious pigeon took off towards the new sound. Some would correctly call this action brave.

The noise came from a lump of a thing. A thing only slightly bigger than the curious pigeon. A soft thing. A thing that looked like the winos only cleaner. Shinier. Smoother. Much much smaller.

The curious pigeon hopped up onto this lump that looked like a small clean wino and cocked its head; a gesture that would speak to the bird's curiosity were it not a function of the bird's physiognomy. Through black pupils set in orange eyes, the curious pigeon examined this noisy soft lump.

The first thing the curious pigeon noticed was that, like the three winos, it had arms where its wings should be. It didn't have any feathers - it only had a few wispy strands of hair, like the one wino. Its eyes were big and white with brown in them, like the other wino. These big brown and white eyes watched the pigeon. The hole where the noise had come was where the beak should be. Like that third wino, this lump's hole lacked rows of white like that one wino and that other. The lump's rowless hole tightened in a remarkable way.

The curious pigeon went to get a closer look at what it decided must be a clean little wino, when the clean little wino clutched the curious pigeon with two hands -- pudgy (like the first big dirty wino). These pudgy fat hands forced the pigeon headfirst into the remarkable and noisy, rowless non-beak hole.

The inside of the hole was considerably warmer and wetter than outside of the hole. Also, there was a force exerted on the curious pigeon. A force that made the bird feel as if its head might be pulled from its body. The curious pigeon prided itself on the way its head and body were all part of the same package and forced itself free from the monstrous head-tugging hole.

At this point, several other pigeons made their way over, emboldened by their curious friend. What curiosity they lacked about the noisy lump, they made up for in wonder about what had happened with their friend's head when it had disappeared. The pigeons shifted from foot to foot in a way that would indicate impatience, were it not a function of their physiognomy.

The curious pigeon marveled at the clean little wino monster as it made sucking motions and sounds with its not-beak. The curious pigeon was surprised to find himself familiar with sucking motions, having seen them performed across the park by the dirty regular-sized winos. The large winos followed this behavior with putting bottles into their non-beak face-holes.

It took much of the might of many of the pigeons to drag a bottle away from the winos. It took even more coordination than might to tip the bottle in such a way that it plugged the hole in the lump. Once the hole was plugged, the lump sucked and sucked with gulps strong enough to take a pigeon's head clean off.

The pigeons pulled the bottle free and the thing made a new noise. A happy noise. A noise the pigeons themselves often made. They called it cooing and this lump was a natural. Perhaps, thought the pigeons, this lump is one of us, despite lacking feathers, wings, and a beak. It was close enough for the pigeons. They fed this lump from bottles stolen from the winos. They played with this lump. They cooed to it. At night, they nuzzled it. It may not have looked like one of them, but to the pigeons, this lump was part of the flock.

Then, there was another change. The days grew shorter and the pigeons could see the lump's breath in the crisp air. Other pigeons from other parks flew overhead. The park's pigeons needed to join them in their southward migration. This lump - their lump couldn't fly. What to do with their lump for the winter months? Many pigeons couldn't survive their first winter, and they have the benefit of being pigeons. What chance did a lump have? They would have to seek the aid of those more like their lump. The winos needed to notice the pigeons and their little lump. And soon.