It was a vaguely warm late summer’s day, and the tree residing above the park bench undulated in a gentle breeze. The air was crisp and smelled of dry grass and rain, conditions which, in these parts, usually anticipated the advent of an electrical storm. The pigeons of the park, oblivious to the meteorological conditions, were happily occupied with their usual pastime of questing for scraps of food and bothering the park’s visitors. One visitor in particular.
The man on the bench wore a rumpled gray suit, and was snoring softly. Above his thin, supine face was a shock of silvering black hair, which appeared to wish it was somewhere else. His feet, spread far apart on the concrete below the bench, were encased in bowling shoes of an antique variety, though their spotless condition denoted good care and infrequent use. The pigeons were especially fascinated with the shoes.
The man’s name was Bernard Inglemore Higgs, though people called him Big. He was by no means big in the spacial sense of the word: five feet, six inches generously measured his full vertical extent. He was, however, rather large of mind, as some people would say, not referring to the physical size of the brain in question, but to its ample capabilities. As his mouth fell open in sleep and a thin line of saliva began to exit the orifice, he looked nothing like a man of this description. But he was.
A mottled gray and white pigeon, daring even for its high-spirited and valorous species, decided to investigate the subtly gaping mouth for signs of lingering victuals, and alighted on Big’s shoulder for a closer look. It realized its mistake shortly afterwards, as the mouth closed and its owner began to stir. Startled, the pigeon quickly forewent its current roost for a safer one in the tree above, from which it ruffled its feathers indignantly.
Big blinked and stretched, straightened his suit jacket and noticed the absent tie, and looked around in puzzlement. The park looked familiar, a small patch of green providing refuge from the bustling busyness of the city surrounding it. He did not, however, recognize his attire, or even vaguely recall his last few weeks of activity. His most recent memory lay in the act of taking tea with an exceedingly tall stranger whom he had chanced the acquaintance of in a cafe nearly 16 days before as told by his trusty watch. He remembered paying the bill, remembered wishing the stranger good day, and remembered walking off in the general direction of his apartment. At this point, his generally superb memory stopped in its tracks and refused to progress any further.
Big sighed. This seemed to be a matter upon which thought had no effect. He glanced at his timepiece once again, which ticked back at him sullenly. With a sudden burst of inspiration, Big decided that something must be done. Peeling himself off the bench, he stood, brushed off the particulate detritus that had settled upon him, and then started to stride purposefully in the direction of the nearest residential area. The pigeons watched him exit the park, unamused.
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