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Написано давно.
Childhood
When I was about 7 or 8 I was spending another hot sunny Mediterranean afternoon all on my own hanging around the neighbourhood and picking berries from the few mulberry trees that were growing around. I saw a little pigeon on the ground. I approached it, and it didn't fly away, but rather tried to walk away. I followed it. It was a very restrained chase, which only made my emotions more intense; I soon realised the pigeon couldn't fly and kept walking after it. It tried to hide beneath trees and in bushes, but I kept chasing it, although without making any attempts to catch it. Eventually, trying to get away from me, the pigeon ended up on the narrow road which ran through the neighbourhood. A car was coming. I freezed froze, unable to turn my eyes away; the pigeon kept marking time right on the course of the vehicle.
There was a rustling pop. A woman who happened to be standing across the street called after the driver, "You killed a pigeon!" And I kept standing there with the guilty pleasure of being a god of destruction.
Childhood
When I was about 7 or 8 I was spending another hot sunny Mediterranean afternoon all on my own hanging around the neighbourhood and picking berries from the few mulberry trees that were growing around. I saw a little pigeon on the ground. I approached it, and it didn't fly away, but rather tried to walk away. I followed it. It was a very restrained chase, which only made my emotions more intense; I soon realised the pigeon couldn't fly and kept walking after it. It tried to hide beneath trees and in bushes, but I kept chasing it, although without making any attempts to catch it. Eventually, trying to get away from me, the pigeon ended up on the narrow road which ran through the neighbourhood. A car was coming. I freezed froze, unable to turn my eyes away; the pigeon kept marking time right on the course of the vehicle.
There was a rustling pop. A woman who happened to be standing across the street called after the driver, "You killed a pigeon!" And I kept standing there with the guilty pleasure of being a god of destruction.