AND THREE DOLLAR SODAS

photos via rebecca baust

the other day henry and i were out running errands. it was sunny with a cold breeze and mostly quiet in the neighborhood. i pulled my sleeves over my cold fingers and looked very carefully at all the people walking down the street beside me. some of them were old, some were young, most were wearing big black coats. there were a smattering of dancers. all going this way and that way, not really noticing each other, all getting from point a to point b.

the more i looked the more we all started to resemble pigeons.

bear with me please.

i figure we're all just a bunch of pigeons. dwelling in our roosts in the sky, descending to the streets in search of whatever it is we come here to do, bobbing along at crosswalks and eating street cart pretzels and going about our way. doing things that are terribly crucial and yet wholly unimportant in the grand scheme of things...

pigeons are easily my favorite thing to think about these days. in fact, there was a time a few years ago where i was dead set on writing a children's book about a family of pigeons that lived under the brooklyn bridge. they had thick brooklyn accents. mob pigeons, maybe. i think pizza played some crucial part in it somewhere, but now i can't remember.

and now, some pigeon-related thoughts. 

completely disorganized, without a clear thesis statement:

first. pigeons are FILTHY.

sometimes they're missing an eye. sometimes a leg. usually one of their wings is sort of sticking out all wonky. they have battle scars. sometimes i get the feeling that if i were to ask what happened, they'd tell me a grand, brave tale. (probably it's usually a shoe or a taxi) (what it if was a carriage horse! do you think they could be warring factions of the city's animal kingdom?!?)

when they walk their heads bob just so.

i have, on more than a dozen occasions, waited at a crosswalk with a pigeon. when the light changed it looked both ways, hopped gently down to the street, and made its way bobbing across to the other side.  what i want to know: WHY?

know where you never see a pigeon? in a tree. know where you always see a pigeon? on the tops of air conditioning units. 

coming across pigeon road kill while crossing the street is terribly humbling. 

people bring stale bread to feed the pigeons in the parks all the time, and then they sort of hang out on park benches with their pigeon suit on. i would not be wholly surprised to find that those pigeons bring food to the people too, from time to time.

a lot of the times when i see a pigeon i feel like i want to run to catch up to it, and then punt it swiftly in the bum. does this make me a psychopath?

does the pigeon have a natural enemy in the city? who do they fear? nobody? who eats pigeons? homeless people?

pigeons are related to doves. in fact, pigeons ARE doves. and yet, doves are NOT pigeons. discuss for three paragraphs. (i just mean, this could be the start of a good essay, if you wanted to.)

about three times a day i'm reminded of that scene in 30 rock when tracy jordan says "stop eating people's old french fries, pigeon! have some self respect! don't you know you can fly?" 

anyway. 

pigeons. right?

thanks for the shots, rebecca!
(in this one i believe i am saying, "huck! do you see the puppies?")