In the mock desert of Government center there was this pigeon, see? Actually, there were many, many pigeons, see? But this one was dying, dying most desperately, ya see? Its feet were sanded down, sanded down by the pavement to bloody shreds, see? There were people giving a wide berth and people leaned up against the walls of Seventies Architecture who you had to squint real hard to spot. All that cigarette smoke, they blended in real perfect, ya see now?
And after spectating for about 25 minutes I picked that bird up and tucked it under my left arm and the people stopped and the people stepped away from their walls and put out their cigarettes and cheered: "Go! Go save that bird!" and we barely escaped the flashing lights and the thrusting microphones and I slid to my knees on the very first patch of dirt we came across. It was a cemetary, see? But it was already full, see? Full of colonial mayors from back when Boston was just knee-high to a monarch across the Atlantic, see?
But seeing as I was short on time and this bird was no actual friend of mine, it suited me fine all the same and I wrung its neck all the same, see? Don't get queasy now, it was one quick split second motion and don't tell me it would've rather wasted away all slow like in a place where you can't see no dirt for miles and miles and miles, see?
3 years ago