My head was like a jumble shop and if I happened to lean my bodyweight too far in one direction I was liable to stumble. It was morning and the light was soft white and gentle, yet it still stung my bloodshot eyes. It was very early morning and I had the streets to myself. I could see people in bakeries who were slicing the first bread of the new day and turning the big ovens on. Now and then people would come by on pushbikes, mainly old men who looked pained as they pedalled slowly and sometimes young women, their destinations unknown.

As I approached the centre of town, where there was a mini clock tower with benches around it, a gaggle of pigeons stopped their wild flapping around. They all seemed to look at me at once with their little beads of eyes like they were embarrassed of their boisterous antics. A human could see them and it was as if they felt the need to show some decorum in my presence. They needn’t have bothered - I was as embarrassing as them as I trawled along with my nose on the ground and my movements uncoordinated like the town drunk.

Maybe I’ll become the town drunk I thought plaintively as I left my feathered friends to their social courting. Now I was leaving many of them had resumed the flirtatious flapping and pecking of each others plum coloured necks that glimmered radiantly. As I walked away I turned once more to watch a trio of them pecking, slurping, can pigeons lick? It was a puddle of lemonade from a can that rolled lazily when the wind blew. I continued walking, checking my watch at ridiculously regular intervals.

I reached McDonalds and was about to curse furiously when I realised that it was open – the lights were probably turned low for power conservation. You always wait in line with the most unexpected people in Mcdonalds, at least in my worldly experience. In front of me there stood a large ginger haired man in a suit. He didn’t strike me as a regular fast food patron. An old couple sat in a window-seat and they were both wearing khaki shorts. The woman had sunglasses on a string around her neck. These weren’t the archetypal fast food patrons either. I fiddled with a stray hair that was  obscuring my field of vision and wished I’d taken a few ibuprofens before coming out. The culmination of sunlight, fresh air, walking and confusion was making my head steam. If my head was a window you wouldn’t be to see out of it for the condensation. I always took ibuprofen, the sugar coating made consumption more gastronomically pleasing. Rather than that milky dissolving texture most brands of paracetamol had. I despised that. We didn’t have any eggs either. My usual hangover routine was to take one ibuprofen tab - a raw egg drank from a jug and two further ibuprofen tabs. Today was different. My buddy wanted McDonalds and it seemed like a good enough idea to me.

It was my turn to order and I asked for two of the breakfast sausage bap meals with coffee. The food took a long time to come. I let them off due to the earliness but did think it made the term fast food ironic and laughable.

Yesterday’s sangria and red stripe combination were catching up with me now. I clutched two McDonald’s bags, one in each hand and had to keep stopping, placing them down on the ground and adjusting my belt, which kept loosening and causing my overlong jeans to catch underneath my shoes as I walked. I had begun to sweat - the sun was of that deceiving nature. You didn’t really realise it was hot until you got out under it. The town was still quiet, maybe even quieter than my first walkthrough.

I was back in the towns centre. The pigeons were no longer cavorting and pecking one another. Instead they were in a tight knit circle and a single pigeon that was almost entirely white, not very pigeon like at all I thought, padded around in the middle of the circle, on a Mcdonalds bag. My shirt was beginning to stick to my back so I sat and took a rest. The poor fellas must love a bit of Mcdonalds I thought, almost pitying the birds. Most people hated pigeons but not me. To me they were cute in that ugly type of way. What with their little bobbing necks, confident manners and colourful feathers.

I’d taken my breakfast bap out of its bag and I tore a piece off and tossed it in the bird’s direction. I had expected a wild flock, a reaction akin to every pigeon who hung out around the Eiffel tower. Those guys were mad, I reminisced. These pigeons merely turned in my direction. The white pigeon in the centre halted his investigation of the bag and cocked his head toward me also. I smiled, intrigued by the reaction of these creatures. The white pigeon began to approach me, the circle parting for him.

I saw it then. On the crumpled bag was the stub of a human finger. You could tell it had been viciously nibbled off by the flesh that overhung the tiny bone. I swallowed and stood up as the white pigeon bobbled towards me and every other regular looking pigeons did the same.