I was running late, and in a mad rush - driving like some criminal on the run from the law in a Hollywood car chase. No car was safe, if it got in my way - expletives were the only item on the menu. As I careered into the entrance of the Colma City BART station parking lot, I noticed an object in the middle of the entrance. I had to slow down as the entrance road ran out and I rapidly approached the lot, but I may not have slowed down as much as most people on entering the station parking lot - not on this day.
The object did not move. It had become clear by now - in these last seconds - that the object was in fact a pigeon. Yet, surprisingly, it did not seem to budge. I did not screech to a halt, but kept on going through the entrance, expecting - as is usually the case - that the bird would flee. Yet, it did not flinch, and then it was out of my view and I could no longer tell what its fate might be. As I looked back in the rearview mirror, I saw what appeared to be a misshapen pigeon-like object in the middle of the entrance where previously a pigeon had been. I presumed, but could not tell for sure, that I had popped the poor thing.
It was only until later that evening, on returning to the station on my way home, that I was able to confirm the fate of the creature. By that time it had been substantially reduced - somewhat resembling a flattened cartoon character stereotype. Talk about being spread too thin. Molecules that were once collaborating with one another, participating in a grand society, forming complex tissues and organs, now formed a sort of urban aphalt veneer.
So, I popped a pigeon! I didn't lose much time to thoughts of guilt - I did not deliberate over whether or not I could have prevented its sad misfortune. On reflection, it really seemed as though the creature had a wish to die. It seemed, even at the time, an odd place for a pigeon to be standing - virtually motionless. But I imagine it was alive at the time. I pull in to the BART station usually at around 10am, and by that time many cars will have passed through that entrance way. Had the pigeon been dead - perhaps from the cold of the night before - it surely would have already been compacted by the time of my arrival.
There are many pigeons that dwell in that parking lot. And of all the places in the parking lot, the entrance would be THE place of choice for a pigeon seeking an end to its existence. How ironic, that an entrance should in this way serve as an exit. A kind of runway for the asphalt flyer.
