My connection with him was severed.
I stared blankly at my phone, a tightness in
my chest.
It was uncomfortable.
I couldn’t describe the feeling, just a general
sense of discomfort.
Then a notification popped up at the top of
my screen.
My breath hitched; my heart pounded.
My breath hitched; my heart pounded.
[A notification from Bank of America: Your
account has received $5,000,000.00. Current
balance: $5,000,542.48.]
Thank you, discomfort gone.
I was happy again.
I’m so easily pleased, it’s ridiculous.
11
Feeding pigeons in Paris was surprisingly
relaxing.
I found a small bench in the park.
Doves filled the twilight sky, landing around
- me.
I scattered some seeds, and they fluttered
down to peck.
I scattered more, and they pecked, pecked,
pecked.
So relaxing.
Two even got into a fight over the food.
Feathers blew in the wind, gently landing on
Feathers Diew in the wina, gently landing on
the water.
I grabbed another handful of seeds; a few
gray pigeons hadn’t gotten any.
It was a small park, not one of Paris’s famous
landmarks.
There were few tourists, and even fewer
locals.
The closest person was an old man with white
hair, who smiled at me.
The seeds I was feeding the pigeons were
actually his.
Realizing I didn’t understand French, he
switched to English.
It was obvious he didn’t like English; his
sentences were short and choppy.
I tried to chat with him, but he dismissively
waved his hand and told me to feed the
pigeons.
He was a quirky old man.
But friendla.
く
But friendly.
