Posted elsewhere.
I think its worthy of blogation here, so:



Early morning, eastern end of President street, you look up, the buildings have a fuzzy edge, they seethe, they coo, careful, you’re in pigeon country.

Suddenly, on cue the walls erupt as thousands of bodies hurl themselves down into President Street. Maybe someone opened a window, rattled a seed bag, murdered their spouse...The mass flicks south on Mooi Street, rising as it turns east into Market, big, small, young, old, black, grey ...
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