"It's so hot out here," muttered Poppy the pigeon. The fountain in the park invited him for a spell. He soared down, perched on the edge, and jabbed his tiny pigeon head into the stream. "Ahhh, refreshing." It was. The fountain's water was really refreshing.

Nearby, something squealed. Poppy popped up. Two boys were skateboarding down the park. They were weaving in and out of terrified pedestrians. And both weren't wearing helmets.

Poppy leapt from the fountain. High into the sky he soared, high as a pigeon. And down towards the boys he aimed.

The boys were moving fast. Poppy had to flap frantically to catch up. "Slow down, you miscreants!" he chirped. But the boys didn't heed him; they didn't speak pigeon.

A young couple screamed. An elderly man teetered off his walker. A little baby started to cry. The boys skated on, laughing and jeering.

Poppy looked down at them. On their heads were target symbols. Like the ones at archery ranges. These head targets are not visible to humans. Only birds see them.

So naturally, as any good archer would do, Poppy took aim. And fired.

SPLAT. "What the?" One of the boys crashed. "Oh damn, is that bird poop in my hair?"

"Ha ha ha! You got shat on!" hollered his friend. "You got"—SPLAT—"oh no!" He jumped off his board.

"Haa! What? You got shat on too? Serves you right!" He looked up.

SPLAT. "Dude, that bird shat on me again!"

SPLAT. "Ugh! My eye!"

SPLAT SPLAT. "This bird is a fricken poop machine!"

SPLAT SPLAT. "Dude, let's get the hell out of here!"

The boys jumped on their boards and raced out of the park. The pedestrians stared unnervingly at the pigeon, not sure if they should thank him or run for cover. Poppy hovered for a moment. "90% on target this time." He grinned a pigeon grin. "Not bad."

Trickles of tiny pigeon sweat gleamed between his feathers. "It's so hot out here," he muttered. The fountain in the park, once again, invited him for a spell. Back into the stream he jabbed his head. "Ahhh, refreshing."