As I traversed the cobbled streets near my loft, lost in a cloud of oblivion, I suddenly noticed a pigeon ambling beside me. I stepped up my pace, thinking I’d lose the scruffy bird; the pigeon trotted faster. I slowed down; the pigeon followed suit. I ground to a halt; the pigeon stopped in its tracks.
The whole situation caused me great unease. The pigeon seemed too friendly. It seemed unusually unafraid of humans. Rummaging through my brain, I tried to remember whether pigeons can get rabies.
Then I noticed the pigeon was unabashedy oogling my feet. I examined my sneakers, thinking I must have a smidgen of food stuck to the sole, but the cross trainers looked pristine as the day when I bought them.
“Oh swell.” I said to myself. “I’ve attracted a pigeon with a foot fetish. Why do things like this always happen to me?”
Then I took a closer look at the situation. I suddenly realized my athletic shoes had the same exact markings as the pigeon.
“What a relief,” I said to myself. “The pigeon doesn’t have a shoe fetish. It just thinks two other pigeons are walking down the street.”
I resumed walking. The pigeon matched my steps. We promenaded all the way to the corner. As I stepped off the curb, the pigeon turned tail and returned to patrolling its turf.
All in all, I’d say it was a good day in the city.
Nancy Robinson, Alone in the City 1996, mixed media (2D/3D acrylic on foam core board, plastic figure), 13" x 13" x 2"