I used to think that pigeons fart through their mouth. That’s why they make that guttural noise all the time. But it occurred to me that probably they don’t fart at all.
I am sitting on this bench where I usually feed them. I come here on my own three times a day as a part of a ritual that I do not recall how it began.
I come here in the morning, in the afternoon and early in the evening—only when I am not starving.
The concrete hour depends on how I deal with my own hunger that day.
I like pigeons.
They never expect anything except not being scared. We have a lot in common.
First time I came here, we scared each other off. Then we got used to our shapes and movements. They are fast and I am slow. They felt comfortably safe only if I was on my own.
Sometimes they fly away—scared—because of other people. That relaxes me.
I could get rid of the pigeons with a quick move if I wanted, but it took very long for them to trust me.
I never felt forced to give the pigeons breadcrumbs. I like to tear the pieces out, so that it seems they were left out from a sandwich I did not ate. I have the answer ready if someone asks.
If you listen carefully, you hear the sound that bread makes when it breaks. The warmer it is, the louder it gets. I always try to buy a freshly made and yet warm baguette.
I like to feed them fondly even when they poo on my shoulders loudly—they are loud only when someone else notices it.
Pigeons also make this strange noise out their throats as if they were moving liters of water within their tiny bodies.
They don’t mind the noise. They don’t seem to notice, as if they were deaf. That might be it.
Or else, they are extremely confident with themselves.
I envy them while I feed them some more crumbs.
Or else, they are thoughtful enough not to criticize each other to hurt their feelings regarding this funny noise. They agreed to ignore it.
They must be proud of who they are for not being ashamed of their guttural noises.
That means they are extrovert animals that liked to be seen with the good and the bad.
Pigeons are way ahead of humans. Apart from that they can fly.
I’d like to fly.
It is getting late and I am tired of feeding them instead of myself. I walk home and decide I can’t stomach to cook anything for myself.
I go to sleep thinking that tomorrow the sun will rise as it always does and I am sad I won’t ever see it not rise.
I fall asleep with the thought that I’ll miss all the interesting things in life when I am gone.
This morning I rise with the sun.
This morning I feel different from the night before.
This morning, instead of feeding them crumbs, I am feeding them thumbtacks so that they tear themselves apart and bleed from their inside.
This morning, they will die without making a mess and I bet no one will notice.