Yesterday, as I bent over to steal my neighbour’s
newspaper, I was struck in the head by a precocious
carrier pigeon. The wayward bird entered my suggestible
brain by way of my softened left temple, where it eventually
came to a fluttering rest somewhere within the vicinity of
my right frontal lobe. The bird has since crafted itself
a comfortable nest out dried twigs and dopamine.
What’s more, it’s apparently caused irretrievable impairment
to my problem-solving skills, not to mention my risk-taking
tendencies. In other words: I have since grown up.
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