While nagging the dogs for barking too loud, I struggled to lock the door and headed to the boulevard around the corner.

In my family, I’m in charge of shopping for groceries and doing most errands. Money is tight, so we have to plan day by day, but I don’t mind. Strolling through these calm streets is oddly relaxing for me, even if I’m forced to wear heavy coats and occasionally suffocating scarves. There’s something about the icy breeze that clears my thoughts, makes me appreciate the tiny pockets of nature scattered throughout the town. I just wish I lived closer to the river. 

Winter has always been my favorite season. The region doesn’t get too cold, and though it’s a shame it never snows, seeing the gray skies has forever given me a warm feeling. That afternoon was like any other: had to head to the farmer’s market first, where they would receive me with a tired glare, then the butcher, always so kind and relaxed, then a small drugstore where the owner’s wife would joke around and laugh with me, sometimes at my expense. These places weren’t too far from each other, but every block felt like a different city. There were fancy homes in one, the entrance to the slums in the other, an avenue permanently blocked by traffic, a depressing row of derelict houses. 

Normally, going through the more dangerous parts of the neighborhood sharpened my senses, exacerbated my anxiety and moved my eyes and ears away from any sort of unplanned social interaction. Yet this time my head was leveled, sight was set forward, steps were firm and confident, a tune was playing in my mind louder than usual and the muted colors of the scenery seemed radiant as they changed to accompany the melody. 

I decided to head through an alleyway, maybe there was a chance I'd see a cat- a rare sight especially in winter, or maybe I'd get to sing some cheesy lyrics out loud. As I took a few steps into it, the sound of cars zooming nearby faded away, and only the whistling of the wind swaying the dead trees was left. The thump of my shoes stomping the ground changed to thunder-like roars, stopping me in my tracks. I attempted to clear my head by shaking it rapidly and continued my stroll on the sidewalk. 

Must have something in my ear, I thought. I blew my nose into my handkerchief expecting to clear my hearing to no avail. The whistling grew louder, to the point it drowned out everything but itself. I found myself stumbling in dizziness for a moment, my sight blurry, my limbs numb, yet I was still moving forward, as if the world was sliding beneath my feet. 

“Is this guy alright?” echoed near me. To the best of my abilities, I turned around to search for whoever had said that. After finding no trace of anyone in the area, I forced myself to stop and take a breather. A few seconds of deep breathing restored my eyesight, though the numbness of my arms and legs turned into discomfort and for that I sat on the sidewalk with my back against the brick wall of one of the houses. 

“Ugh, another homeless one?” said the voice again. This time I could pinpoint its origin: I looked up and saw a stubby green parakeet sitting on the porch’s lamp. It seemed neglected, or at the very least quite old, with ruffled feathers and a discolored beak. The fact that it was outside struck me as odd- usually these birds were kept in cages as pets with very little freedom. It was a bit refreshing to see one enjoying some fresh air, though I couldn’t help but feel worried about its well-being. 

“Well, that’s just rude,” I replied jokingly and sighed. I had to get up eventually, lest a neighbor opened the door and started yelling at me. Nevertheless, I spent some time to rest and make sure I wouldn’t fall to the ground as soon as my legs started moving. 

I glanced at the parakeet once more and started wondering if it was right for it to be in the open, thinking it might be a lost pet. With an awkward grunt I stood up, shook my head like a wet dog and turned around to knock on the door. 

“Ooh, he’s got bony knuckles!” said the parakeet. 

I started to take note of how clear its voice was. It wasn’t normal for a bird like this to parrot so effectively, one would usually notice a few off-tone squawks. Besides, what was that phrase he’d just blurted out? After counting to ten, I knocked on the door again. 

“Hey wise guy, the doorbell works!” At this point I was chuckling, stunned by the bird’s mimicking skills, recalling my father’s stories about other parakeets spouting all kinds of comedic phrases. 

“You dropped your purse, buddy!” it said. I scanned the ground and there was my shopping bag laying on the sidewalk- I must have let go of it while I was stumbling. Raising an eyebrow, I stared at the feathered critter.

“Are you talking to me?” I asked. The bird moved its head to the side and waited a few seconds before replying: 

“Are you talking to me!” 

“Hello?” I mumbled. 

“Hello, hello!” it repeated. 

For a moment I marveled at my own stupidity, believing the parakeet and I were chatting. I pressed my hand on the top of my head as if it would fix something inside. Once my bag was recovered and I made sure no one was there to laugh at the situation, I steadily sauntered away from that house. 

Just as I had predicted, a few paces later I tripped over a loose tile but managed to save my face from the concrete by grabbing the metal fence of the next house. 

“Oh no, get your hands off me! Why isn’t the alarm ringing?” The parakeet was now sitting on the branch of a tree close ahead, mocking me with curious head movements. This time, its voice sounded different- like a snobby old woman. I examined the fence and the house behind it, an elegant and bright Victorian-styled front obscured by the dark metal bars, with a quaint garden covered in colorful flowers. 

“Sorry!” I stuttered as I moved my fingers away. 

“The nerve of some people!” whimpered the parakeet in response. 

I froze. I knew I was a daydreamer, though never to this extent. I checked every part of my head to make sure it wasn’t bleeding. Deciding to ignore what just had happened, my legs moved forward again, while my eyesight was fixed on the bird. Naturally, I almost tripped, and when I turned back to peer at the parakeet once more, it was gone. 

“The government never fixes these streets” an aggressive low tone grunted. There it was again, this time picking at some leaves in a bush inside a different house. This one had an extensive front garden, though completely different to the previous one, as it was plagued by weeds and vines. The building itself was most certainly abandoned, with chunks of it missing, cracks on the wall, boarded up windows and glass all over the panes. 

Paid no mind. Just kept walking away from it. I crossed the narrow street, but no sooner I stepped on the other sidewalk than I heard another voice. 

“Aye, buddy! Have ya been drinkin’?” snickered a male voice with a rough accent. The parakeet was drinking water from a dripping faucet close to the ground, on the wall of a long hallway cluttered with cinderblocks, scattered sand and broken bottles of beer. 

I strutted past it. 

“Oh, don't listen to him, honey!” The parakeet was perched on the roof tiles of a house that mimicked a tiny cottage, almost cartoony compared to the rest of the block. Equally ridiculous was its voice now, that of a lovely old lady, stumbling her words. 

I stood still for a moment. Surely someone was playing a prank on me, I thought. Most of the panic went away, and I started studying the buildings surrounding me. Their colors became vibrant and beautiful, and they were showing me paintings of scenes in the past. The textures on the walls were telling stories of people in the neighborhood. The smell of the flowers and even the bushes and vines filled the air with pleasant memories. The parakeet sang a chorus of old folk tunes. 

The dizziness returned. The eyes were blurry again. The limbs were number than before. All I could see was the parakeet flying away. 

I reached the intersection of a familiar road. My destinations were close by. As if nothing had happened, I did my shopping and returned home. The dogs welcomed me with high jumps and loud barks. One of them stopped to sniff my leg longer than usual. When they calmed down, I sat on the couch utterly exhausted, and checked my shopping bag. 

With a snicker, I stood back up and went out once again. I forgot to buy eggs.