Jimmy leaned back on his bench, with his legs stretched way out. He had a green parka, a plastic bag of bread crumbs, and thick silver hair. Bright blue eyes and a red face. I'd seen him around.
   "They’ll come back, though. Don’t worry, they always come back." He winked. The birds flew down from the building to the trees. "See, they’re back."
   I told Jimmy and Dave I was making a movie about birds in the city, everyday birds, like pigeons.
   "I’m a bird," said Jimmy, with a friendly smirk.
   Jimmy asked me if I've heard of Errol Morris. "He makes movies. He did that thing on the Oscars, you know, where he asked all them people what their favorite movie was."
   Turns out Errol Morris lives down the street. Jimmy said he and Dave had coffee at his house just the other day.
   "He's a good guy. He comes by here all the time, walking his dog. Ugliest dog you ever saw, little thing, size of your purse."

I asked Jimmy if he'd introduce me. He said, "Sure, but it'll cost ya."
   I understand, nothing's free these days. "What's it gonna cost me?"
   "A cup of coffee. You, me, and Errol Morris are going to have a cup of coffee. And his dog. He's always got that dog. Man, that's an ugly dog."
   I promised I'd be back, and asked if Jimmy would be here another day. He raisedhis eyebrows at me, but let this question go.

We chatted about pigeons, watched a plane fly overhead Jimmy said it was a bomber; he could tell by the jet stream. He was in the AirForce. He never feeds gulls. "They don't share."

By the time I left Vellucci Park, Jimmy had reminded me about meeting Errol Morris four times. As I walked away he yelled, "And you know what, darlin'? It's on me. I'll buy!"

Monday, January 6, 2003 (1-2 p.m.) Snowing.
No one was in the park when I arrived; all the pigeons were across the street, on the Quick Mart roof. I sat on Jimmy and Dave's bench for ten minutes, making notes, wondering if the pigeons saw me and if they thought I might feed them.
   I got up, and was near the round raised area by the statue of Mayor Vellucci, when one pigeon flew across towards me … then a couple, then ALL of them. The air was filled with pigeons as I fumbled with the camera. I didn't get the picture.
T hey all roosted in the trees, and then after a few minutes, came down onto the circle thing and then, the ground. They were pretty friendly. They flew right in front of my face.
"Sorry guys, I got nothing for you." I hadn't thought of bringing food for the pigeons, but now I could see the appeal.

I tried recording their cooing and the noise their wings make…incredibly conscious of all the background noise: sirens, trucks, dogs barking, people yapping. Interestingly, I felt much more ridiculous audiorecording pigeons – leaning over them with the microphone – than I did photographing them. But no one asked what I was doing.

There was no sign of Jimmy.

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