2020-06-12 Bird watching; or Bird, watching
Bird watching; or Bird, watching
Location: Sun's Bright Cafe
Date and Time: June 12, 2020 9:00 am
Summary: Friendly conversation with BIRD FACTS
Mood Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jLKrYWtmGZA
There are birds here. One of them is particularly large, perched atop the SBC building itself. Beak idly tapping at the tag attached to the bird's leg.
13:13:20 UTC.
Richard is seated at a table, having spread out his work items for the moment. There is a legal pad, a TI-30 calculator, a mechanical pencil, and a cup of cold brew coffee settled near him. The latter is likely to offset the warm weather in Los Angeles, and is easier on the digestive tract. He is preoccupied with his work, scribbling on the legal pad while comparing highlighted lines on a printout that is adjacent. Slung over his seat is a leather briefcase that the modern-day professional slings across their body.
Unattended on his table is a bowl of bread left by one of the staff of Sun's.
David sees someone he doesn't recognize. And ooh, a shiny calculator. So the large bird spreads wings wide, and drifts off of the roof, spiraling down, and landing on a chair beside Richard's table. Landing right on the back of the chair, looking at Richard's calculator. The bird lets out a few clicks of greeting.
Richard's pencil slows to a stop as he detects sudden movement out of the corner of his eye. His blue eyes flick upward, landing on his new attendant. His head lifts up after a heartbeat's delay, looking at the bird impassively.
He sees the tag and the clip on the wing, but his face does not give away any sort of concern regarding either one just yet.
After another heartbeat, he simply says, "97" before returning to his work.
David is surprised by that. The 97 gets a response of a croak. Because crows caw, ravens croak. Those wings flap gently. And then he goes for it, the bird hops across the gap, attempting to land on the edge of Richard's table. Not on any papers, not on the caluclator, just at an open spot across from him.
Richard looks up again when he sees the movement, as the bird is closer now than it was moments ago. There is no bemusement, fear, or delight. There is just the man in the suit acknowledging the bird that is on his table, lips drawn into a thin line. Los Angeles denizens come in all varieties, and this one gives the impression of being average.
But the average person doesn't just spout numbers.
He'll lift his legal pad from the table. Rather than swatting at the bird, he'll turn the page to reveal a fresh one. He then draws a strange shape on it, with curves rather than straight lines. The straight lines come next, creating a grid that is neither sloppy nor precise. It is free-hand.
He then presents it to his new occupant at the table, and says, "This is Los Angeles county."
David doesn't get scared by the pad. Obviously not. The birds here are habituated to people. This bird leans forward, snagging a piece of bred, and puts it down on the table. Holding it with one foot, pecking at it. But yet... he watches the paper. Staring at it. Head rolling to one side.
A captive audience as any, according to Richard. Perhaps the man would rather lecture to birds than finish doing whatever it was he was doing.
"Each square represents a space of 100 kilometers... ten by ten," he says, pointing to a couple squares with his mechanical pencil. "A study by the Biodiversity Atlas of Los Angeles has reported anywhere from nine unique species of bird to 97 for any given square on this map. That's 97 different species in a 100-kilometer square. Or a little over 62 miles, as the... crow flies."
David croaks. The croak doesn't say 'raven' instead of crow, but it might as well have. The bread piece, its crust broken up into smaller pieces, is now suitable to be picked up, bite by bite. Beak lifted to swallow down each one. The bird then taps the piece of paper, right in the middle-ish of the paper. Coincidentally right around the Sun's Bright Cave in Civic Center.
Richard looks down at the bird's foot, but doesn't express any immediate acknowledgment that the location matches where they are currently. Coincidences are just that--coincidences. And the map is not perfect.
"If that is where we are, then I can only confirm one species of bird--you," says Richard. He then reaches for the pad in an attempt to roll the paper back to his numbers. "Statistically, there should be at least eight others. I would hazard a guess as to song sparrows or European starlings as being around. They are most common in California, you know."
Does David know?
David gives the pad one more tap. Can't be TOO obvious. Then looks at Richard. And finally grabs another piece of bred. Dropping it to his feet to bang on it a bit, breaking up the crust. Croak. Croak.
Then he can't help it. He glances around a bit, and finds himself staring at a pigeon.
Richard follows David's gaze, spying the pigeon in the distance. "That's two. Seven more to go for our local minima." He then picks up his mechanical pencil, clicking it twice. "They won't all come to us, though. It's not that easy."
David stares at the pigeon, then back to the bread. Breaking up the crust, then gobbling each piece down finally. With a hop, the bird then leans forward a little. Looking at the morning light reflecting off of the screen, and then beak tapping a button. 8888888
Richard doesn't waste much time counting the 8s that are on the calculator. Could be a cryptic acknowledgment of the value he just said. Could be coincidence once more.
His finger reaches out to the calculator, fingertip pressing against the CLEAR button.
"Five minus three is what?" he asks after two heartbeats.
David lifts his head when Richard speaks. Looking, flapping. Then looking back at the calculator, one button is pressed. Pi.
Richard looks at the calculator readout, then back to the bird. One blink. He then looks over to the basket of bread. "You can still have the rest. I have to be going." He then reaches for his black leather portfolio, sliding his papers and legal pad into its cavity.
David croaks and clicks as Richard is all noise and activity. He hops back, staying out of the way as he cleans up.
Richard is quick to gather his things without being reckless or obtrusive. Soon the briefcase is slung about his body, and he gives his suit jacket a small tug. "Don't fill up on bread," he says to the bird needlessly before heading away.
