A Pigeon in My Flashing (and Other Bedtime Stories) - city-living

When Nature and Civilization collide it sounds just like stirring twelve tin cans in the bathtub with a golf club. This sound, combined with another sound—the sound of a pair of teeny-tiny hands strangling a pigeon.

I laid in bed for 1…2…3…4…5 hours and listened to, what I concluded was, a pigeon trapped behind the flashing on my house.

A squirrel met its maker (Bruce Hornsby) that same way last Summer. But not before it spent several days running itself to death. Was the pigeon luckier? It shivered in the cold until shortly before dawn. Like the Little Match Girl, it shivered to death, clutching a clawful of burnt matches.

We have a client that needs graphics for its trucks so while I listened to the pathetic cries of the dying pigeon, I thought about that.

It was a productive night.