Through The Special Window

The train attendant watches the rock pigeon eat grains of granola from the floor.

No Easter decoration would do that, thinks the attendant.

She continues to watch the rock pigeon. 

If it defecates, that's it, she decides.

Plop.

The rock pigeon defecates. A thick pinkish blob.

Right! says the attendant.

She steps up behind the rock pigeon, avoiding the blob.

You're coming with me, says the attendant. We have a special window for birds that stray onto the train.

Is that a euphemism? asks the rock pigeon.

No, it's an actual window, says the attendant.

Then I'm happy to go through it, says the rock pigeon. 

This is eaier than the attendant had expected.

She escorts the rock pigeon to the special bird exit window, which is out of sight of the passengers (for obvious reasons).

She opens it. The rock pigeon flies out and heads west, towards Adelaide..

The attendant goes back to clean up the thick pinkish blob.

Then she goes back down the carriage to confront Pierre-Louis.

Pierre-Louis is still chatting with Marx. 

Of course, says Marx, switching to renewables is just exchanging one kind of capitalism for another.

That's a gloomy perspective, says Pierre-Louis.

Excuse me sir, says the attendant, I have just ejected your bird from the train.

The Easter decoration? asks Pierre-Louis. Why?

It was no Easter decoration, says the assistant. It ate food from the floor of the train and then defecated. I have just cleaned it up.

Do you get paid extra for such services? asks Marx.

Naturally, says the assistant. As long as I fill in a form.

Gaius returns from the toilets.

Trouble? 

No, no, says Pierre-Louis. It seems our pigeon is on its way home.

A good outcome, says Gaius. But someone needs to tell Terence. He's looking for it.

Is Terence your little statue? asks the attendant.

Um, yes, says Gaius. Don't worry, I'll let him know.

But the attendant thinks she needs to know more about Terence. She scans the carriage.

Ah! There he is. Crawling along under the single recliners.

She marches up, and bends down.

Hello, Terence.

Hello! says Terence. I'm looking for the parrot.

No parrot here, says the assistant.  

It doesn't want me to call it a parrot, says Terence.

Doesn't it? says the assistant. Is it by any chance a rock pigeon?

No, says Terence. It's going to be my third best parrot, when I find it.

Well I'm sorry to have to tell you this, says the assistant, but he's been let off the train.

He hasn't! says Terence. The train is still going.

Through a special window, says the assistant.

But Terence's little face is crumpling.

And now she feels bad.