I pull in on the bike.  A gang of pigeons is stooped around a flattened half a roll, not even budging as I go by.  A truck parked by the side of the road starts to pull out, pauses.  I think its because of the pigeons he’s halting, but he’s not even looking that direction.  His front bumper is close, but the gang hasn’t budged.  He lurches out, two fly upwards lazily, another two scutter forward, speeding up then flying once the truck tails them down.  After he’s left, one pigeon is still there, a patch of dark red from its neck.  Twitching, its legs given out from under it, just next to the curb.

Just then a rubbish truck steams up.  I look away as its double wheels are heading straight for it.  The truck hesitates, waiting for another car at the curb to pull away, then speeds on around the corner.  The bird’s head  has disappeared

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