I was sitting on one of those stone benches near Central Park the other day, eating a hot dog and trying not to drip mustard on my camera while watching the tourists watching me watching them. This particularly brave little sparrow guy struts right up to me, starts eyeballing my hot dog like it was his, cocks his little face, looks me in the eye and stares me down. As expected, I lose the stare down, so I tear off a bit of my bun and he’s on it like a bite-sized tornado and I swear I’ve never seen anyone eat anything bigger than his face and come back for more. Pretty soon, his brother comes over to investigate the matter, and then his brother and his cousin and their long lost aunts and uncles twice removed by an overly exuberant cabbie are all running in ecstatic little circles around my legs. Naturally, all this commotion arouses the suspicion of the mafia pigeons, who come swooping in, and now there’s this whole battle of the fittest happening between my legs, and I’m just sitting there grinning like an idiot feeling for all the world like a bird whisperer who just conquered his own little island in this fucked up jungle, even though I’m just a guy with a camera looking for all the world like another tourist enamored with with the crazy birds in this dirty town. I wipe mustard off my jeans and leave before the seagulls arrive.
I’d live on the moon probably except I think I’d miss
"everything jennifer lawrence does is just an act!"
here is jennifer lawrence in 1995
you know which girl i’m talking about