A cinderpigeon accidentally drops something from above.

A half-eaten market roll smacks the ground close enough to scatter crumbs across your boots and lower legs, followed by a soot-gray bird landing on the nearest ledge with the posture of a magistrate reviewing evidence.

Two more cinderpigeons arrive a heartbeat later.

Then three.

Then six.

They're all sizing you up and weighing the value of that pastry, and the crumbs all over you.

[ There will be no admin intervention. ]