I climbed the steps to the El. There was some dude under the heat lamp so I stood alone on the platform. The heat lamp thing is smart, but I always think people seem like human french fries underneath it.
I stood there, the wind whipping through me, shivering in the cold looking down the tracks. I see this pigeon hop up the steps to the platform. He’s wandering around, like pigeons do, and then walks kind of towards me. He had that sickly, needy look they get like ‘got a light?’ or more likely ‘got any crumbs?’. I had nothing so he wandered away and huddled in the corner one foot fluffed up and under him out of the cold.
I could have said, “You going to be alright out here?”
He’d half look at me, “Yeah, I’m okay.”
“It’s really cold.” I’d say. He’d shrug. “People can die out here in this weather,” I’d persist.
He’d look at me thoughtfully. “People do. I probably won’t make it through the night.”
“That’s awful!” I’d say turning my full attention to him.
“I’m a pigeon. It’s the life. I just do the best I can,” he’d say solemnly.
“I’m sorry,” I’d say getting upset.
“It’s how it works. You have to keep going.”
“It’s sad.”
“It is.”
My train rolls into the station like thunder. He looks jolted and drops down his other bird foot to steady himself.
“Good luck on your date,” he’d say.
“It’s that obvious, huh?”
“You seem nervous. You’re talking to pigeons and all.”
I’d try and smile, but I’d feel sorry for him. The train stops, the doors open, and I’d turn, “Take care of yourself.”
“You too,” he’d say.
