Yesterday before work, I went to the Yerba Buena Gardens, to a place above a waterfall that overlooks an old, gothic cathedral. I sat back with a choco mint camel to relax and quickly realized some couple next to me making out, some other couple next to me making out, and two birds that decided to fly onto this ledge near my head that had started bird-fucking.
"Oh God." I thought. "You will not think about love in such a place."
So I looked at the pidgeons and around the park, and remembered a time much like that day when I was little, maybe 5 or 6. My dad took me to the park every sunday to feed the birds. So I went with some pieces of sourdough and as usual, the pidgeons flocked. One cocked its head to the side and advanced forward to eat the bread from my hand.
At that moment, a small boy about the same age sprang at the pidgeon, broke its neck, and proceeded to rip all of the feathers from its body. The rest of the pidgeons scattered in terror. I dropped the bread, and screamed.
"Whose kid is this? What are you doing? This is public property! You can't do that to the birds! Get out of here!" Roared my father, the Texan lawyer with all the senses of property rights and ownership in the world.
On the bus, he handed me a tissue to blow my nose. "Are you ok?" He asked. "He killed the bird, dad! Killed it! Why did he have to hurt it? The bird just wanted to eat my bread." I wiped my nose and put the Kleenex in my pocket. I was wearing a dress with a large, blue pineapple on the front of it.
One bird must have told another bird must have told another bird. We went to the park about two or three more times but the birds would not come to me. They were afraid I would hurt them. I stood with the bread for an hour one time. "They hate me." I said. "They will never come to me again. I don't want to come back to this place." I stuffed the bread in my pocket. "Let's go home."
And so we never went back to the park again.
So I looked down and realized my legs were crossed exactly the way I crossed them when I was little; left over right, tip of foot bobbing up and down.
"You were not supposed to think of love in such a place." I told myself.
So then I leaned back into the bench, propped up my elbow and exhaled a puff into the free blue sky. I let the sun caress my face.
And I laughed out loud while the birds fucked.
"Oh God." I thought. "You will not think about love in such a place."
So I looked at the pidgeons and around the park, and remembered a time much like that day when I was little, maybe 5 or 6. My dad took me to the park every sunday to feed the birds. So I went with some pieces of sourdough and as usual, the pidgeons flocked. One cocked its head to the side and advanced forward to eat the bread from my hand.
At that moment, a small boy about the same age sprang at the pidgeon, broke its neck, and proceeded to rip all of the feathers from its body. The rest of the pidgeons scattered in terror. I dropped the bread, and screamed.
"Whose kid is this? What are you doing? This is public property! You can't do that to the birds! Get out of here!" Roared my father, the Texan lawyer with all the senses of property rights and ownership in the world.
On the bus, he handed me a tissue to blow my nose. "Are you ok?" He asked. "He killed the bird, dad! Killed it! Why did he have to hurt it? The bird just wanted to eat my bread." I wiped my nose and put the Kleenex in my pocket. I was wearing a dress with a large, blue pineapple on the front of it.
One bird must have told another bird must have told another bird. We went to the park about two or three more times but the birds would not come to me. They were afraid I would hurt them. I stood with the bread for an hour one time. "They hate me." I said. "They will never come to me again. I don't want to come back to this place." I stuffed the bread in my pocket. "Let's go home."
And so we never went back to the park again.
So I looked down and realized my legs were crossed exactly the way I crossed them when I was little; left over right, tip of foot bobbing up and down.
"You were not supposed to think of love in such a place." I told myself.
So then I leaned back into the bench, propped up my elbow and exhaled a puff into the free blue sky. I let the sun caress my face.
And I laughed out loud while the birds fucked.
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"Get y'all's stuff out of my house" or "Y'all's food is ready" are commonly heard. it's a real word I tell ya!
and if you travel cross country....you better stop here in Texas!
[Edited on Jun 04, 2003]