I was sitting on a park bench and some pigeon flew up talking total shit. He was all, “The way you dress is preposterous and dated, you clearly have no one that loves you.”
“What’s your deal, man?” I asked, hoping that he would not answer.
“We pigeons look down on all of you but you’re the lowest of the low, dickhead. We see right through you because you have no substance. I just thought you should know,” then the gray shit smirked at me.
Completely obliterated, I had to take the L. I ceded ground, knowing that it would not matter; I had no respect to lose. It wasn’t until the train home that I started to smell the fumes. What the fuck did I do to them? I’ve never said one negative word about the pigeon community! Then I backed off. That cement-colored, wannabe-vulture runt doesn’t represent all pigeons, he’s the sole target of my rage. I will demolish him in the ring of public opinion, I will learn every single synonym for the word “asshole” and recite each of them with a ringing sense of vindication so loud that, hallelujah, all of the righteous church bells will chime and fall and crash upon the earth with such tremendous thunder that but then I ran out of steam. It was my stop, and I didn’t wanna be angry all day.
