Pigeon Face Flap AIDS Fiasco

Picture the scene: Me, walking to walk along a busy street in the heart of the city at about 8:30am yesterday morning. In my hand I have a steaming hot, freshly purchased cup of coffee. I am surrounded by busy looking people all walking with great determination towards their respective offices. No one is out for a stroll. No one is interested in the richly detailed history under their very feet. Who gives a fuck if the consort of King Henry VIII resided not 20 feet from their present location? Not us, we're on the WAY TO WORK motherfuckers. Out of our fucking way. My whole existence at this point is my next step, and then the one that would follow. Homing in on my office. Nothing else matters.

I am approaching a building on my left that is being refurbished and the building work is spilling, ever so slightly, onto the pavement in front of me. I spy two pigeons there on the pavement. They were also looking quite determined in their endeavours, whatever they may have been. Trotting around looking important to all the other pigeons that may be watching. I didn't notice as I was so ensconced within my own journey. A huge bang erupted from the building site just as I drew level with it. It happened to jolt me a little. It also happened to scare the fucking crap out of the two pigeons who were now directly in front of me, maybe 3 feet away. One pigeon flew directly away from me looking rather urgent. The other pigeon decided to do a 180 and took off, still with his back to me. He (or maybe she) banked hard to the left and headed right towards my face. Then, our world drowned in honey and time seemed to freeze. I say "our" as I know that the pigeon had the exact same feeling as me. We had eye contact. Seriously. I don't know too many people that have looked a pigeon in the eye. And survived. His velocity was terminal and my positioning was flawed, and there was fuck all either of us could do about it. Not a fucking thing.

I knew he was gonna hit me and could also tell he was going to connect with my face. My most prominent thought was for the coffee. Not the coffee itself but its temperature. If I start flapping, there is a good chance that i'll be wearing boiling fluid. Not the best way to start the day, and so I stopped dead. Medusa couldn't have frozen me any harder as Mr. Pigeon crashed into my face. I wasn't flapping, but he was. Fucking hell, had you asked me how many wings a pigeon has at that exact moment, I would have confidently argued for at least 15. 15 fucking SETS of wings. My face was screwed up and out of the very corner of my pursed lips I am cursing at this fucking flying cunt as he flaps, and he flaps, and then he fucking flaps again.

Face - pigeon, pigeon - face.

Then it was over and the suddenness of the incident makes me stop. All I can hear is the wind, and the tale end of a fading "Flapping cunt..." trailing from my lips.

As soon as I came too properly, I turned on my heel and headed for the nearest chemist for heavy duty anti-bacterial wipes to clean the copious Pigeon AIDS that covered my face.

Not nice