Sometimes you’ll be driving around Arcadia, over by the Santa Anita racetrack, when you run into a bunch of peacocks hanging out on some dude’s lawn.
And, yeah — It’s kind of weird at first, because how did they get there? And you’re like, “Wait — peacocks can fly?! How did I miss this?”
But then somehow you’ll start getting used to the idea of peacocks hanging out in a suburban neighborhood. You’ll start thinking that peacocks are really just like us.
You’ll see that they dread the obligatory social obligations of the holidays, too.
And that they’ll miss the days of lounging over the newspaper with a cup of coffee once print media is completely dead, too.
And that, just like us, they quickly tire of bizarre and intricate mating rituals that seem archaic to the outside observer.
That sometimes, even peacocks just want to be alone.
But the thing is, you cannot get too close to the peacocks, because they’re not just like us, no matter what you think.
Peacocks are nasty fuckers.
They will hard-charge your car.
I’m telling you: those bastards will take off a finger just for “looking at [them] funny.”
Yeah. When you see peacocks in Arcadia, it’s probably best to just keep on driving.