Two pigeons are resting atop a fictional statue of Richard Dent in his hometown of Atlanta, Georgia. They have just flown back to Georgia after spending Sunday afternoon at Soldier Field, watching Bears v. Packers. They are tired. They are hot. Their names are POODLE and PUDDLE, but neither of them knows the origins of those names.
POODLE: You know what I have noticed lately?
PUDDLE: What?
POODLE: Melancholy.
PUDDLE: Because of the election thing?
POODLE: Fuck the election.
PUDDLE: That’s what I say, but that’s just pigeon privilege.
POODLE: Pigeon privilege. What’s next?
PUDDLE: Something is always next.
POODLE: Melancholy. Deep, profound sadness.
PUDDLE: Like Hamlet?
POODLE: How do you know Hamlet?
PUDDLE: Guy with a beard and a scarf was walking through the park a few months back. He dropped a book and the blew it open. I walked over and gave it a perusal.
POODLE: Oh, you gave it a perusal, did you?
PUDDLE: I did. I gave it a perusal.
POODLE: What, my friend, did you peruse?
PUDDLE: I don’t know the story of the whole book, but I know there was a Hamlet and I know he was melancholy.
POODLE: How did you know he was melancholy?
PUDDLE: It said it in the play. That he had bad color, and this other character wanted him to shake off that color and be friendly.
POODLE: Good book?
PUDDLE: Wind blew it closed before I could get through that page, but it seemed like something you would like.
POODLE: I only ever read from two books. Both good!
PUDDLE: Which two?
POODLE: One was something about a salesman. Sad. The other was called Forum by an author called something Penthouse.
