The Squirrel Man.
 
Every morning around 5am I walk through Westham Park.
It’s overgrown but I like the mist. Sometimes, along one
of the twisted paths, I see a man down there, in a big coat -
likes to feed the squirrels. They come right up to him,
take the food out of his hand. King of the squirrels.
I wanted to ask him about it but he always shuffles away
as soon as he sees me.
Normally I would always take the West entrance.
Yesterday I came through the East side.
And there he was, crouched in the fog, feeding a
squirrel as usual.
I was extra quiet. Moved towards him. And that’s when I noticed it.
I swear to god, the squirrel was passing him something.
A note.
What business does a squirrel have with a man?
 
Too late. He heard me, swung around; eyes green like a rabbit.
Muttered something at me. But now I think back,
his mouth didn’t  move. Was it the squirrel talking?
Before I could think, he’d already shuffled away through the mist.