The city is mine.
I stroll along the streets, taking what I find. Cats taunt me, but I pay them no mind. They may have claws, but one strike with my beak will send them scurrying.
So put up your spikes, trying to control where I rest my wings. how easily you forget that the skies are more and the city ever expands up. There is always another level I can reach and you will always be hemmed in where I choose to shit.
In your hubris you compare me to rats. But let us take a plain look at each other. I have jeweled feathers and glide the wind currents. You pack yourselves into ever more cramped dwellings and live amongst your own filth. Which of us are the true vermin.
I am a prince of this city. Show some curtesy.
(The last few days I’ve run into a few pigeons that truly had both attitude and an almost regal bearing. Just thought I’d give them a voice.)
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Deadly Troubadour 