Elizabeth Kalman

We’ve noticed an air of amore amongst the pigeons in town. It goes something like this: Mr. Pigeon puffs up his neck like he swallowed a tennis ball–his neck feathers really are a lovely iridescent shade of blue–and he hops up and down on one foot making a noise that sounds like chuckling in his tennis-ball throat. Ms. Pigeon looks away modestly, obviously thinking, Oh you silly fool.

It must be working for him, though. There’s a lot of pigeons here.