A Man Of The Pigeons

Picture it, yesterday, a kitchen.  A young man, with white skin and brown hair is mixing his protein shake before he plays in the NYC Gay Basketball League Championship game.  He hears the sound of a wounded pigeon coming from outside the window.  After living in NYC for many years he knows this sound well, much like knowing the the sound of gun-fire at 3 in the morning.  He looks outside, and there, on a dirty metal ledge, are two pigeons and a bunch of nasty stuff that can only be found in-between NYC apartment buildings.

One of the pigeons looks fine, and is walking back and forth bobbing it's head as pigeons do.  The other pigeon though, is motionless, with a wing slightly bent in the wrong direction.  The young man, with no regard that his game is in only an hour, goes to the cabinet and grabs a piece of bread.  Fortunately, there were three pieces left because he knew that he would want a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich later.  He takes the piece of bread, flings it onto the dirty metal ledge and watches as the wounded bird slowly hobbles over to eat.  The man feels satisfied knowing he has helped one of God's creatures.  He drinks his shake and heads off to the game.

That pigeon is the one pictured above, and that man was me.

(Oh, and then I went on to lose the championship game by 5 points.  Maybe if I had gotten there early for extra shooting practice my team would've would've won, but nooooooo,  I've gotta save a pigeon.  There's a lesson to be learned here, people.  I'm just not sure what it is...)