The goose would always show up at the strangest of times, and always with a pin–either held in its beak or fixed to one of its wings, or both. The bird then made a beeline for whatever food stalls or open-air concessions it could find before sprinting away with nuggets and morsels impaled upon the needle.

Today, it had hit up a pretzel stand. Honking quietly and still dripping with nacho cheese, it walked into the small, hidden cabin on the outskirts of town, where the hidden old man–its mentor–waited.

“Very good, yes very good,” the man cackled. He took the pretzely prize and split it between himself and his bird. “Here’s to another day of high life at the man’s expense.”

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