the pigeon

the pigeon lacks shame
excels in humility
eats the trash off the ground
grovels at every man's feet
shows no pride
he pecks endlessly at the asphalt
searching for one more crumb
one more to survive

a night

We cooked hot dogs on the gas stove. They crackled and popped; skins and innards charring inside the blue flame. Hot dogs and beer, we couldn't get more American. Well, maybe if it was Budweiser and not Stella Artois. I think the Hot Pockets make up for the Belgian beer. Where else do you eat Hot Pockets, hot dogs, and one dollar chicken fries? Ah college.