by Jeremy Warach

 

The cold air spilled out of the open refrigerator and flowed over the young man's toes. It felt good. He stood in his bathrobe, holding the refrigerator door and trying to decide what to take out for breakfast. He nodded, grabbed the milk carton, and shut the refrigerator, then opened the carton and took a whiff, just to make sure it was still good. He turned and put the carton on the counter, then reached in his cabinet for a bowl and the cold cereal.

 

The day was already hot. His small, one bedroom apartment in the city had no air conditioner, and his old and clunky window fan had broken a few days earlier, so he had no choice but to bear the heat. Standing at his kitchen counter, he looked into his cramped living room. The threadbare couch sat a little bit lopsidedly on the floor, one side higher than the other. Several feet away, a small television rested on a low bookshelf which was stuffed with paperbacks. A card table and folding chair stood by the window. Several papers were scattered on top of the table, and they rustled in the breeze which he could just barely feel coming in through the window.

 

He poured the cereal and milk into the bowl and started eating his breakfast while still standing at the counter. As he lifted his third or fourth spoonful to his mouth, he saw a pigeon land on the window sill outside. It folded its wings against its body and stepped back and forth. He lowered the spoon and watched the bird, since he had nothing else to hold his attention. It was grey and white and speckled — completely ordinary. But when it turned again, and its back faced him, he saw that its tail had been injured. Several of the feathers were torn, and others were twisted, giving its tail a ragged appearance.  

 

The pigeon found a spot it must have thought was acceptable and settled there, its body still, its head moving in small jerks to the left and right.  It seemed to the man that its gaze fell on him from time to time.  Still observing it, he ate a few more spoonfuls of his breakfast.  The bird bent over to peck at something on the window sill outside.

 

He finished the last of the cereal, and drank the gritty, sugary milk out of the bowl. As he turned to put the bowl and spoon in the kitchen sink, his cell phone rang. For a moment he couldn't remember where he had left it, and he scanned his small living space. Then he saw it on the card table, weighing down the papers. He crossed to the table in a few steps, looked down at the phone, and saw that the caller was his ex-girlfriend. Grimacing, he picked up the phone and roughly pulled the folding chair away from the card table so he could sit down and take the call. He pulled it too hard, and it clattered to the floor. As he groaned and leaned over to pick it up, the pigeon looked at him, ruffled its feathers, then turned and flew off.