“Tell me, how is my favourite wizard today?” She did her best to make her voice sound cheerful and happy like in an ice cream ad spot, but her eyes were the only part of her that was icy.

Luke lifted his head. “Huh?” In the middle of drafting the next posts for the “Wonderful me” campaign, he was only giving half of his attention to Alma, his boss.

“Oh huh, come on, huh, do you want to know about the magic you did for me on your desk the last days and nights? Don’t say you do not remember! I had a visitor this morning.”

Luke put down the stylus of his drawing tablet. “What kind of visitor?”

Alma sat down on Luke’s desk, her left leg dangerously close to his hand (the one that had just let go of the stylus). She moved her lips next to his ear: “A… LAWYER”.

“Oh yeah” Luke only moved one eyebrow, waiting for more details.

“OH YEAH” echoed Alma, “That is what YOU SAY to this. Do you know what I learned today?” (She did not actually wait for his reaction and answer, but instead continued without leaving enough time for him to open his mouth).

“I learned today that some pictures are better to never have appeared in this oh-my-holy world wide web of ideas. NEVER.” She flipped back her hair and fixated Luke with a blend of blue eyed word-cutting intensity he already knew. “I agree”. Luke had picked up the stylus and had his fingers play with it.

“How nice of you to agree. Would you mind having a look at this one?” She smashed a stack of photos on Luke’s desk and he immediately recognized the scenario. “Salchicha Man” he muttered.

“His real name is Wilbur Johnson.” Alma took up one photo and held it close to Luke’s face. “ He cannot even walk outside, let alone go to work without being called Salchicha Man”.

(“Well, that’s what he is” Luke was about to respond, but he knew this was not a good idea). “That was just a play, just a campaign. I only took his photo for the Spicy Mexican campaign, which he agreed to, as you remember.”

Alma clenched her teeth: “And then this whole picture was taken and transformed into this insulting phenomenon that YOU supported because you admitted those pictures of shame in our facebook page my lovely dear social media expert.” She breathed.

“Half a million dollars is what this is going to cost us if we lose the trial. Just for your information. THINK of something you wanna do, and do it CAREFULLY.”

She slid off his desk and vanished into her office.

When Luke walked home, the air was thick and it was getting cold, a steaming cold with air that carried the scent of iron.

“You jerk.” The voice was twice as loud as the voices Luke was used to hear, including Alma’s. He turned around to see a familiar face. “Salchicha Man!” Luke had to clear his throat. It had been a long time since he got to say “Salchicha Man” so many times a day. The man carried a pan with a lid on it. “Excuse me?” The man looked about ten years older since the photos had been taken.

“You are the dirtiest piece of garbage that you can find. Thank YOU, I have no job anymore, no private life, I am being ridiculed and discriminated.”

“I am sorry” Luke replied, calmly. “I did not mean to...” But he was interrupted.

“It is too late.” Wilbur Johnson lifted the lid. “You want Salchicha Man? You get Salchicha Man. And my famous salsa!”

Wilbur threw the pan at Luke, who reacted too slowly and got hit on the head. The white spot somewhere in the distance he had been observing even when talking to Wilbur was coming closer as Luke fell to the ground, his face covered in tomato salsa. Through the reddened view of his eyes (either blood or tomato, he did not know) he saw this white spot flying up to him. A bird, a seemingly big white bird, who had landed next to him only to watch Luke, the reddened Luke, on the ground. No reaction from the bird, no sound, no fluttering. Salchicha Man was gone, but the bird remained. Luke let his head sink down on the ground when he finally heard the sirens.

“You really got hit hard on  the head, didn’t you?” Alma was as charming as she had ever been when Luke presented the new campaign. There were photos he had created himself, as he had managed to find the bird in the neighbourhood he was attacked in, and take some shots before returning him to the local zoo.

“The indifferent cockatiel?” Alma came closer to Luke and stroked his neck with one of her long white nails.

“Nobody is going to remember Salchicha Man anymore. And, besides, where did this upcoming trial go? Discarded, wasn’t it? See, I did my work carefully.”

Luke smiled when he just typed another text on the photo of the white bird.

At least, birds cannot file lawsuits.