Someone actually let me have a book. My first collection of fiction is on sale. You can even enjoy a Kindle edition.
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The man pointed at a pigeon perched on the back of a bench and said it wanted to sit on my arm if I would give it somewhere to land. He called the birds by name. “Come here, Cinnamon. Here, girl.” I held my arm out.
Oh, the crazy pigeon man in Washington Square.
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