Every day for the past four days, I’ve walked by a dead pigeon. Sometimes two. This is a little unsettling. As much as I don’t like pigeons, they’re living things. To see them dead on the sidewalk or street is startling and gross.
It’s also bizarre. How often do you see a dead pigeon? Not often. At least not in my experience. Until this week.
I saw one splattered on rue Montorgueil this morning and it got me thinking. The French are sort of like pigeons.
They don’t really move until they have to. They just seem to hang around and eat a lot. There’s never a great impetus to get things done—they make a good show of being busy but it’s only when there’s imminent danger that they actually move their tails.
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