Tuesday, April 29th, 2008
I just got back from getting my lunch. Like, I am currently undergoing the process of simultaneously typing and adding crackers to my soup.
So I'm walking behind this pigeon on my way to Taza's. Its entire head is smooth and white, so it would stand out, you know, in a lineup. If that lineup consisted of your average disease-infested rat-birds. It's just bobbing down the sidewalk, looking around, sniffing gum, spreading pestilence, eating cigarette butts and dirty candy wrappers. Whatever the hell pigeons do.
I start following it around. The sidewalks are clear so the pigeon has room to explore. I follow it into a parking garage and out again, watch it hop into the street, glance around, change its mind and bounce back onto the sidewalk. Obviously, this pigeon is thoroughly trained in map-making, as I hear pigeons have a tendency to be.
Eventually my cartographing pigeon and I arrive at Walgreens and I remember that I need deodorant, but I do not want to leave the pigeon. So I stop in front of the revolving door while the pigeon contemplates its next move, and stare after it as it wanders away down
I'm like, "Thanks, no. Sorry." Meaning, "I don't need another issue of your crap-ass dumpster-filler newspaper."
Streetwise Guy goes, "Whatchoo lookin' at, girl?"
"Nothing." I turn and head into Walgreens and buy the hell out of some Secret: Summer Breeze.
When I come back outside, Streetwise Guy has noticed the pigeon, which crossed
And I wondered why, in all of our travels within the past six minutes, it had never occurred to me that the pigeon could get hurt or fly away.