while
the
pigeons
surrounded
him,
like
he
was
some
kind
of
pigeon-‐lord—like
they
weren’t
just
attracted
to
his
filth.
I
shot
an
apologetic
look
at
Sal.
Sal
was
not
impressed.
“You
got
it.
About
how
long?”
I
said,
reaching
for
my
wallet.
“Gimme
an
hour,”
he
said,
“And
get
him
the
fuck
outta
here.”
Sal
pointed
a
chubby,
furry
finger
at
Norman,
who
was
now
holding
a
broken
Lucky
between
his
lips
and
yelling
at
a
rhododendron
bush
as
though
it
had
just
called
him
a
sissy.
The
pigeons
had
changed
their
mind
about
him
and
taken
flight.
“Sure,
Sal.
Thanks.”
“Whatever.”
I
walked
over
to
Norman
and
stopped
short.
He
looked
at
me
like
he
expected
me
to
side
with
the
bush.
I
realized
the
situation
was
only
getting
worse.
I
weighed
my
options.
Norman
could
not
be
taken
anywhere,
really.
I
had
become
fed
up
with
him
and
considered
telling
him
to
piss
up
a
rope.
Christ
knows
why,
but
I
just
couldn’t
go
back
on
my
promise
to
feed
him.
I
decided
to
just
get
it
over
with.
There
was
a
Piggly
Wiggly
Diner
across
the
street
from
Sal’s.
I
figured
I
could
get
some
stuff
to
go
and
sit
at
the
bus
stop
until
Sal
finished
cleaning
Norman’s
puke
out
of
my
baby.
“Let’s
head
across
the
street
to
the
Piggly
Wiggly,
yeah?”
I
said.
Norman
grunted.
“O.K.”
I
walked
toward
the
street
and
Norman
followed.
I
stopped
at
the
edge
of
the
sidewalk
and
looked
to
my
left.
As
I
turned
to
check
the
oncoming
traffic
to
my
right,
37