So there I was, cigarette in hand, pigeon in my mouth, and she starts talking to me. I'm like, lady, shut up already, will ya? If the blood bothers you, go read somewhere else, OK?
But no, she wants me to stop eating the pigeon. Or stop smoking, or something. I dunno, the sound of the bones crunching kinda drowned her out. Whatever she was saying, she must have felt pretty strongly about it, 'cause she popped a button on her blouse when she started pointing her finger in my face.
I was pretty sure the button wasn't one of those subtle, "Hey big man, I think you're hot" kinda things, but I reached out, just to make sure.
It wasn't.
On the up side, though, that little bit of confusion on my part finally made her go away. Take your book and go get your own pigeon, is my take on the whole thing.
I never could understand why people buy books in hardback anyway. Sure, you have to wait a few months, but paperbacks are a lot cheaper and they taste just as good. Even better if it's Random House. They use that glue that tastes like cherries.
A bit, anyway.