Not much else to do with my life but talk to birds, these days. So I know a little of how they work.

And of how much they like food. [In all fairness, he's charmed by the spectacle beside him; it's almost like he's hanging out with a real Disney prince or something, and having someone actually listen to him is a novelty besides. There's no keeping the stupid look from his face, not even as he gently grips the pigeon atop his head like a fucking burger and brings it down to sit in his lap for scratching. Clearly they've both got their own golden child, even if more and more pigeons are starting to gather around them for some sweet free food.]

You're doing really well, man. Just don't pet on the wings or down the back, and you'll be fine. Now folks are going to call you the bird guy, instead of me. There goes my niche appeal.