There's been a set of pigeon wings on the ground in front of the building where I work for going on two weeks. After the third day, I stopped worrying about what happened to the rest of the bird and started wondering why the hell someone hadn't gotten rid of them because that sure as shit wasn't going to be my job. By about a week into it, I was actually looking forward to seeing the wings in their spot each morning as I made my way to the desk job. I'm not really sure why, either, because normally I'm not all that into pieces of animal carcass. Maybe it appealed to my teensy weensy appreciation for the macabre...can't really be sure.
Yesterday, a plastic fork appeared on top of the wings. I had to stop and stare for a moment because it sure looked like that fork was placed there with intention. It made me laugh a little, but its presence definitely altered my relationship with the wings. Now we had a third party involved and I wasn't so sure the fork was properly respectful. This sucked for me because, clearly, it was going to have to be my job to do away with the wings lest someone else mistake them for a place to stack their trash. But I figured that task could put that off for one more day.
This morning, though, I was let off the hook. When I checked for my friends...er, the wings...in their usual place, they had disappeared. All that remains now is the blasted fork. I'm not going to get caught up on why someone would take away the wings and not the fork because that could lead down too many icky paths. Still, I can't stop thinking about what these last two weeks with the wings might mean. Even though I'll probably have let it go by tomorrow, I need those wings to have meaning for reasons that I can't quite nail down.
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