Harv squinted at the sunlight. He hated it, but taking lunch at his desk meant suffering random greetings and small talk as foisted upon him by his fellow cube farm prisoners. That simply wouldn’t do.

Crackers from the yellow package went into his mouth, a steady flow of unsatisfying calories. Those from the milky white package went to the sidewalk, an offering to the city’s fowl and rodent denizens. He’d gotten the idea from an old song. The tune stuck in his head, and the idea just kept percolating.

On the bright side, it broke up the monotony of having to eat a lunch. On the down side, it meant a noisy companionship over his noon hour. Such an annoyance usually would make Harv sneer and swear under his breath. Frankly, most of life made him sneer and swear under his breath. In this case he only giggled.

He giggled and hummed. Occasionally, he would sing softly to himself, “The sun’s shining bright, everything seems alright, when we’re poisoning pigions in the pa-a-a-ark.”