Greg looks between the stranger, the avian mob roiling before him, and his popcorn. He does so hate to leave food to waste, but... at least someone will get to enjoy it.

"I'll miss you, bud," Greg somberly confides to the bag. If J can go for the dramatic line, Greg gets to milk it too. He takes a breath, and drops the snack to spill over the well-trodden park pathway. The birds go wild, and Greg takes the chance to hop over the back of the bench in the chaos.