Play it cool

All he wanted was to walk in the park, to enjoy himself before it got dark. He sat on a bench and who should appear, but a solitary pigeon chirping sincere. Suddenly the bird produced without warning, a big shiny gun that he must have been toting. The bird forced the man to the store, where he wept and he bought bread galore. Back in the park the man fed the pigeon, pieces of bread by the smidgen. When there was no more bread to give, as if fate did not want him to live, suddenly there came to his feet, the rest of the pigeons hungry for wheat. It was over, and depleted, so the man said defeated: I do not have any more buns. So the pigeons at once, they produced all their guns.