“I spent the day with the pigeons, on a bench in Trafalgar Square, my bag of belongings huddled to my chest in case someone thought of taking them, and a pile of breadcrumbs at my feet. I let the pigeons congregate around me ... Eventually a local warden came up to me and said , "Sir, we ask people not to feed the pigeons," with such an expression of civic determination that I pretense not to understand English. Instead, I listed my way through various "eh?" sounds until, having exhausted his two words of French and three of Spanish, he concluded that since I was neither nationality, I wasn't worth the bother.”

“I spent my day as I normally spend my days: threatening suppliers, bullying those who are not in line with my expectations, and generally creating havoc in the lives of others. The square across the street is empty of all but the pigeons. I find myself resenting them.”

“So you’re the Pigeon, huh?”“No,” I snapped. “I have a name.”He seemed amused at the way I regarded him, which only served to make me angrier.“Well? What is it?” he asked.I took a bite of the last apple spear on my plate, ignoring him.“Pigeon it is, then,” he shrugged.”

“I’m drunk, Travis. It’s the only excuse I have.”“You just want me to hold you until you fall asleep?”I didn’t answer.He shifted to look straight into my eyes. “I should say no to prove a point,” he said, his eyebrows pulling together. “But I would hate myself later if I said no and you never asked me again.”I nestled my cheek against his chest, and he tightened his arms, sighing. “You don’t need an excuse, Pigeon. All you have to do is ask.”

“I bet your mom would let me." -Pigeon, Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus-”

“Abs? What are you, a workout video?" he sneered. "Pigeon?" I said with the same amount of disdain. "An annoying bird that craps all over the sidewalk?""You like Pigeon," he said defensively. "It's a dove, an attractive girl, a winning card in poker, take your pick. You're my Pigeon.”