Turns out the homeless man I spoke about the other day is alive.
He wears sunglasses now.
Five feet from his corner of the sidewalk, I found this pigeon. I did not touch or move this pigeon. I just leaned over and took this photograph. The sun was glaring, so I didn’t stay long to analyze the specifics. It wasn’t until afterwards, later that night, alone in bed, that I saw this writing–
I don’t know what to do with this photo. The idea of pigeons. In a way, it haunts me. I want to document the things I see on a day to day basis that impact me, but I am having a hard time knowing what is meant to be private and what is meant to be public.
I have no clue how the bird died. I did not speak to the homeless man about it. I can’t stop thinking about mystics or mystical things.