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continued, "is why I will not settle for a sandwich instead of a burrito. I tell the universe how I want things, and it will give them to me. At the moment, I want a burrito, and with patience, I'll get one. 'Ask and ye shall receive.'" he looked at the crows disdainfully and whispered to me, "The crows are jealous of me, but that's OK. They don't understand. Deep down they're jealous that I figured out what they don't want to admit!"

I smiled feebly, and bid him a hasty farewell. I left, trying to keep my walking pace under a run.

It was several weeks before I saw the park again. It was just after noon, and the sky was gray. It had been raining earlier that morning, and the grass was damp and smelled faintly. A few pedestrians walked past the park, but no one stayed in the park for any length of time. It was silent and peaceful. The whole character of the park had changed; the man was gone.

A small flock of brown birds were nesting in a hedge, and crows were pecking listlessly at something that apparently only they could see. Whatever it was, they seemed convinced it lay hidden in the grass near the base of a bench. the birds did not pay any attention to my arrival, even when I sat down and got out my lunch to eat. I was feeling contemplative, and almost disappointed. After a moment, a voice that mirrored my thoughts interrupted my reverie and said, "quiet, isn't it?"

When I looked up, a man was standing nearby. He looked a little like the man in the bathrobe, but he was much thinner, and he had very dark eyes. He was wearing a long black trench coat, and had a light backpack with the logo of a local college emblazoned on the strap. "Yes," I agreed, and gestured for him to join me at the table. He did, and took out a bag of corn chips. He munched thoughtfully.

"Tell me," I said, "do you know what happened to the man who used to stand over there," I waved vaguely, "and yell at the sky?" the man cocked his head and looked at me, his face unreadable. "I do." he swallowed heavily. "He's dead." I replied "oh" numbly, and we ate in silence for several minutes.

Eventually, the man spoke up on his own, his voice somewhere between regret and disdain. "He was always sick. Diabetes, I believe. When his antics stopped being a novelty to the people who passed by, no one would pay more attention to him than any other beggar. He was too picky, and he could not get meals regularly enough to maintain himself. His blood sugar plummeted one night, and he slipped into a diabetic coma. I believe they found him over there." he waved at where the man had been standing before.

I looked over to where he gestured and solemnly took a bite of my lunch. I watched the spot for several minutes, until a thought struck me and I turned back to ask the man a question. Although I had not heard him leave, I was alone. The only other living thing in the park was a black crow that was flying away from me. I watched it uneasily.

Learn more about this author, Kristopher Chambers.
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