As I walk down the bustling street in downtown Chicago, I am haunted by the never ending drone of curious pigeons flapping their wings around my head. They seem to feel my fear, and it draws them toward me. They hop on their disgusting feet closer and closer. The rough, orange, three-pronged claws near me. I try to scare them away, but the endless supply of feathered creatures simply will not stay away. I near a small cafe and enter in hopes of eating lunch away from the chaos of birds circling in the sky. Unfortunately, I have no luck. I'm forced to eat at a small white table outside. Everyone else had wisely arrived before me to take shelter inside the small restaurant. The red umbrella over my table seems to call out to the tiny, evil, beady, red eyes of the attackers. Once again, they creep closer. Their eyes follow each bite of my salad as if travels from my plate, to my fork, and finally to my mouth. With each bite I can see the distance between the teal headed, grey-black feathered bodies and me grow increasingly smaller.