The man sitting on the park bench wore jeans and a plain blue t-shirt. He reached into a brown paper bag and scattered some bread crumbs to the appreciative flock of pigeons gathered about him. His baseball cap was pulled down over his face.
A second man came down the path, took a quick look around, and sat down on the bench. Taking out a red hanky, he blew his nose twice. Then he said, "My dog barks at strangers."
"The shadows dance in the moonlight," replied the man feeding pigeons.
The second man hesitated. "Shouldn't your parrot sing Pavoratti?"
"No, I don't own a parrot," the man stopped feeding pigeons. "Shouldn't you think that moonlight is the best light to dance by?"
"I don't dance."
"Oh. So, you're not Agent Pink?"
"No, I'm Agent Cheetah. You?"
"Agent Black. An animal code name, eh, that would make you, what, CIA?"
Agent Spear said, "Yes, you?"
"Ah. This is the north end bench, isn't it?"
Agent Black shook his head, "No, this is the southern end of the park. You need to follow the path a ways further. The north end bench is next to a pond."
"Oh, well, this is a little embarrassing," said Agent Cheetah.
"Think nothing of it. Happened to me the first time we used this park as a drop. Have a good day."
"You too," Agent Cheetah stood up and walked down the path. Agent Black returned to feeding the pigeons.
A few minutes later a young woman pushing a baby carriage with a sleeping infant stopped in front of the bench and sat down.
"The shadows dance in the moonlight," said Agent Black.
"Moonlight is the best light to dance by," replied Agent Pink and she gave him a smile.
"Yes, it is," said Agent Black.
Copyright 2012 John Lance