Sitting at a Cuban lounge on Chatam St. in Windsor, Ontario. It's a long weekend, and many of the streets are blocked off, many of the bars have extended their sidewalk seating into the streets, and there will be bands ... and, the bar owners hope, crowds to bolster the battered Windsor economy.
There is a faint thud across the street, hardly noticeable ... and a pigeon flies into view. It heads straight for the black lacquered door of Danny's of Windsor (Hot Nude Male Strip Bar!), and clings by its toes to the crack between the top of the door and the lintel. For a few seconds ... then it flutters weakly to the pavement, and dies.
The thud had been the pigeon, flying into the glass on a building across the street.
A palpable sadness runs through everyone, hushed gasps emitting, torn from whatever worlds they had been creating, into the universal truth they had not expected. Paulo, the quintessential Italian male, has his face transformed by a force which he barely recognized. A common bird, often reviled for its commonness, has split the evening air. And united all.