
You’re dragging yourself around downtown, barely awake and with a slashed-up foot. You need to sit, to rest, even to sleep, but the crowds just keep coming and you know from experience that they’ll kick you if you’re in their way. You see a little corner, a quiet nook, and with bitter relief you imagine yourself recuperating there. But it’s impossible. Somebody has installed a device, some kind of metal object, and what appeared to be a calm cranny is in fact a nest of spikes. In Canada, until very recently, only pigeons experienced such things.
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