Why Do Birds

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Well, Mr. Stone, what seems to be your problem?" "I think I was kidnapped from nineteen thirty-one and brought here, and I think the aliens sent me back to put the whole human race in a box."

"And why do you think that?"

"Because I'm crazy. "

The psychiatrist blinked and looked more closely at the detainee. He appeared to be a man in his late twenties or early thirties, clean-shaven, with a round cheerful face. He was wearing a brown suit and necktie, and carried a fedora.

The psychiatrist and the detainee were sitting on opposite sides of a chipped gray acrylic conference table with a mandala of coffee rings on it. The panels overhead were humming and buzzing in an irritating lack of rhythm.

"Mr. Stone, can you tell me what year it is?"

"Twenty ought two."

"And who's the President?"

"Tennafly."

The psychiatrist scribed a note. "So, then, you believe you're here because you're crazy?"

"Don't you?"

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