top of page

Death of the Great Feather

After prepping, primping, taking daily vitamins, and contemplating whether it was all worth my time, I headed out the door. I was greeted by a man outside my apartment that said the keys to my front door were no longer relevant. He had installed a new, ugly front door to my building. The new keys to my home were now guarded by a fire-breathing hag across the hall that doesn't speak a lick of English and thinks she's meeting a new person every time we encounter each other. I said "thank you" and stepped through the future obstacle of my waking nightmare.

I snagged a nice iced coffee and added cream and sugar in rebellion against the new years resolution I stole from an episode of Oprah. Sweet treat in hand I headed down the road in promising delight. I paraded down the sidewalk, stepping in perfect sync with the white lines of the cross walk. The salty, sweet sounds of "Cool Cat" blaring out of my earbuds gave way for a perfect day. I was about to throw an aggressive thumbs up to a fellow weekend warrior when my feathers were ruffled by the sound of a Honda Element's tire popping.

When I took off my shades to see what had occurred, a heavenly mess of end trails, feathers, and exhaust were left in the wake of fellow feathered-friends quick and deliberate escape. No one ever looked back. I didn't bother to slow my pace of walking or guzzling as I looked on in horror. A young boy walking with his parents behind me let out a whooping laugh and screeched "I just saw that thing die! Did you see that?!" That's when I realized that the Honda Element was just kidding, and continued on in silent relief.

bottom of page