Friday, March 27, 2020


While having my first smoke of the day out on the front steps, a crow unhappily hopped down the center of the street cawing. There was no stale pizza anywhere! What was this world coming to?!? Because, of course, the primary function of the twenty somethings is to leave evidence of late night partying on the pavement, so that Corvid Americans may have breakfast.

That crow was the only sign of life.
And he or she was sad.

That's something with which I can sympathize, because I too miss pizza. Admittedly I have not had any since just before Christmas.
I'm not much of a pizza aficionado.
But it's the concept.

At the time I wished that I had thought to put some bread and meat into my bathrobe pocket for the animal. Surely he or she intellectually relished the idea of dissolute behaviour and camaraderie that stale pizza represented, the wicked hints of possible licentiousness, mediocre cheese, and the aura of great good cheer that several hours later would still adhere, faint ghosts of booze-sodden intemperance, as well as the sheer nutritional mayhem. The bread and meat would partly satisfy his or her physical needs, and the friendly grey-robed human nearby making bird-like encouraging sounds while puffing out smoke should impart a veneer of normalcy.

Normally I might worry about other people seeing me hopping in a crouch while making cawing sounds.


In these times we must show compassion. Please seed the public spaces with scraps of pizza. They like sausage and cheese. And pepperoni.
Ham and pineapple not so much.

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