Hearing the seagull’s mirthful mutter, the pigeons’ hearts swelled with birdy pride. Almost inaudible over the frothy churn of metal-eating brine, they heard a voice of righteous mischief:
I shit on your wall as I fly right by.
An unexamined commonplace–a literal rite of passage–they’d all done the same about a million times. But there was an undeniable joy there. A routine reinvigorated. If the seagulls can delight in such unbridled joie de vivre, they thought, so shall we.
So shall we.