Kicking With Purpose

Maybe it was just my mood, but today the city told some funny tales. While scouring the streets, I couldn't help but feel my difficult face scrunch beneath the faux-designer lenses propped on my Irish nose at every passing questionable public display before me.

There were the girls in shorts and heels, a fashion statement I'm not really on board with; and the ladies who weren't sure about just wearing just a dress so they sacrificed every bit of safety from heat stroke and wore pants too. Men in tweed suits mingled with boys in plaid shorts in the midst of Dupont Circle. Classic City Life Spring. However, none of this was as alarming as the scene that befell me not long after I passed the pack of shiftless cops on motorbikes.

I witnessed bird cannibalism. Pigeons pecking at cold and bony left-over carcasses of their chicken cousins strewn outside Popeye's in a pile of our dirty city's lack of efficient trash pick-up. I shivered at their depravity. I already hate pigeons, much less the eager-to-devour-their-own-kind variety. Then a homeless guy kicked a tree. With purpose. A sad, still leafless (maybe it missed the "Spring is Here" memo?) thin, little tree.

I'm not sure why. I guess some times you just need to kick something, and if all you have a is a tree, well, you kick it.

I prefer kicking things with a little more substance. But that's just me.