devil tomaney

so, Chris and I were just walking home from trivia. I needed to pee really bad, and we were struggling for conversation material that would distract me from those bladder cramps.

what a friggin' way to start a story.

but it just gets worse.

I say, "That's you're type of girl, isn't it? Like hipster chic?". I motioned toward a healthy-slim dark-haired girl, with a high waisted summer skirt and a grey tee. She had dark rimmed glasses, bangs, a book, and a white belt. sure. that looks like an ideal.

"What are you talking about, [blah blah blah (I stopped listening, PEE!), no, you're my type (et cetera)".

yes I'm a dick fiance. but let us not forget, I had to pee.

Just in front of our house, the dark haired hipster stops. She stares at a parked car, leading me to think she's an eccentric/artistic/introverted weirdo.

but, she wasn't starring at a car, she was looking upon a writhing pigeon in horror.

Chris and I clue in and mutter some words... a little stunned.

She says, "What should we do?"

The pigeon knew it was dying. I knew the pigeon was dying. It was really like it's eyes were saying, "Save. Me. From. Pain."

Without thinking (but not unthoughtful), I said, "The only humane thing to do is to kill it....but I don't want to do that".

and then she turns the horror face to me. Like I'm pure evil. but really I'm pure sense.

she calls the city for help.

and we walk away. up our stairs. me...to the washroom.