The pigeons do not scare at my arrival, for they know i am one with
them: overlooked, ignored by those blinding themselves from the
collapse, and hated by those engineering its acceleration. Knowing i am
as they are, not a mere fancier, the pigeons make no atttempt to stop me
as I take a fair share of bread from the dinner table, slipping it
into the inner pocket of the jacket i am wearing, before contemplating the shapes and shades
contained within this silent multilane roundabout.