I rounded the corner, pulling my jacket tighter around me in the grey cold of the frosty morning light and there, right there, was a swarm of pigeons.
I thought to myself, “Jesus, someone’s left these vermin a pile of breadcrumbs. Now we all have to walk around the little bastards.”
As I passed the writhing, almost cannibalistic, scrum I saw it wasn’t a pile of breadcrumbs they were fighting each other for the right to devour. It was a puddle of vomit. It was frozen and looked like it might have been a meal of french fries, probably from the nearby Wendy’s.
Someone’s exciting night had become the pigeons’ exciting breakfast.