The Bird

Something happened to me in Turkey. I got stalked by a bird.

Every morning, we ate our breakfast at the hotel restaurant that overlooked the city. It was beautiful, and calming, especially since we always chose a table next to the huge bay windows.

And every morning, the same bird was waiting for me.

It was amusing, the first couple of days. That’s a serious little bird, I’d say. And then, Doesn’t he look pissed off? Then I started to get uncomfortable. It was just standing there, staring at me. It would shake a foot or rub its wing against its head from time to time, but the rest of the time it would just be there, watching me.

This is the first photo I took of him. A friend suggested it needed a tophat.

The next day the bird was back, even though we had moved to another table. It did not look happy, as usual.

I started to develop a case of holiday breakfast stress. I’d have flashbacks of his cold beady bird eyes while we were out sightseeing, and a chill would run down my spine… Remember the Gary Larson fake-phobia comic strip? It’s made up, but think it’s true. And that it works for ducks and birds.

On the last day, while it was staring straight at me (or into me, that evil bird…), I switched seats with Julien and snapped a picture ever-so-discreetly…

Do you still think it’s paranoia? THE BIRD CRANED ITS HEAD AND LOOKED STRAIGHT AT ME. But I mean, better this guy than a vulture.

Currently listening to:
The Dirty Projectors
Swing Lo Magellan

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