June 29, 2005

We found the place where doves go to die. It was a hot day in June and I said, “Come under this bridge and I’ll show you things you only dream of.” She grasped my sweaty hand and followed me down a set of concret stairs to the water’s edge.

The pigeon saw us and panicked. It couldn’t fly so it just pissed on the concrete. Something probably ran it over. It couldn’t even walk anymore — in its moment of fear it just hobbled away along the wall as we watched. “There’s nothing we can do,” I said. She held my hand and her eyes filled with tears