It flew in through the scaffolding on the ceiling, which is not decorative but rather part of an open-air expansion project slated to become a third-floor organic dried mango and nut-berry soda warehouse.
No good lunch places near where it works.
A higher power sent it to remind us that the assumption that humans are the only ones who appreciate cruelty-free fresh and local arrowroot cookies is dangerously anthrocentrist.
It’s attracted to girls with tote bags and floppy knit berets.
One of the screaming children at the next table is a Disney princess and is constantly followed by friendly woodland creatures who must keep their distance to hide the princess’ identity from the evil witch who has banished her to Tribeca.
It heard about the free samples of water flavored with a barely detectable hint of guava.
I am not really in Whole Foods, but in a forest clearing where a simple woodcutter, ashamed of his contempo-casual ambitions, has hidden his stainless-steel-and-polished-wood-banquette passion project.
It just wants someplace with free wireless to sit and work on its screenplay.
Whole Foods is an illusion; I am a brain in a vat and a bird mistakenly flew into my vat.
To steal some Kashi cereal for its nest.
It came through the hole in a window created when someone tasted multi-green kombucha and threw themselves to merciful death on the street below.
To use the bathroom for free.