I saw a pigeon lying on its back in the middle of a sidewalk. Its wings spread wide open, its eyes were closed shut. Almost black, it had a fluffy gray belly and stiff red legs. On the small side, it was either an adolescent or a female. Gusts of wind lifted one of its wings from the sidewalk over and over again, and the wing pushed up one of its legs. The pigeon seemed to be dying. And dying. And dying.