Noah

Noah was a huge gray pigeon. Really huge. He was hanging out with Joe Diamond the myna-bird and Sonny-Jack a tiny sparrow at the coffee store--or should I say a coffee store way up there in Spokane, Washington, just a short drive from where they speak Canadian.
Noah had some of those change color green feathers too, but mostly he was just gray.
They were sipping double caramel mochas as they nursed heinous Pabst Blue Ribbon hangovers. Well, not Sonny-Jack. His poison was tequila and big fat Havana cigars, or sea-gars (accent on the sea), as Sonny-Jack liked to call them.
No matter how you slice it, it still came up hang over. Noah and the others had gotten a wild feather up their butts and had flown up to Spokane on a lark.
“Not a whole lot going on here...” Noah said.
“Not at nine in the morning,” Sonny-Jack said. “`Sides: it’s Sunday.”
“There’s this burger place right off the freeway, you can eat there for practically nothing...and it’s great!” Joe Diamond said.
“Eat?” Chorus.
“Well, not right now. I can hardly keep my coffee down my own self,” Joe said. “But later...”
“Is it open on Sundays?” Noah asked. “I thought I saw them rolling up the sidewalks last night.”
“No, you were rolling on the sidewalks last night, Noah.” Sonny-Jack said hopping around for no apparent reason the way sparrows are wont to do.
“Let’s go to Seattle.” Sonny-Jack said.
“Why?” Noah said.
“Because, I, like the rest of ya, ain’t never been there.”
“They say you can see the ocean from most of the hotels,” Sonny-Jack said.
“Puget sound.” Joe Diamond said.
“We got enough to stay up that high?”
“I got my sax: we got money.”
They all nodded the way hung over birds do.
Just then 3 hot looking meadowlarks flew in. All babe birds.
“Hi,” one said.
“Hi,” Noah said.
They got to Seattle a month and a half later, leaving three very sad meadowlarks behind.