“Beyond the wall of light the flat tar roof was shrouded in semi-darkness. The sergeant emerged from the edge of light like a hammerhead turtle rising from the deep. In one glance he saw Sonny frantically beating a flock of panic-stricken pigeons with a long bamboo pole, and Inky standing motionless as though he’d sprouted from the tar. “By God, now I know why they’re called tarbabies!” he exclaimed. Gripping the pole for dear life with both gauntleted hands, Sonny speared desperately at the pig...eons. His eyes were white as they rolled toward the red-faced sergeant. His ragged overcoat flapped in the wind. The pigeons ducked and dodged and flew in lopsided circles. Their heads were cocked on one side as they observed Sonny’s gymnastics with beady apprehension. Inky stood like a silhouette cut from black paper, looking at nothing. The whites of his eyes gleamed in the dark. The pigeon loft was a rickety coop about six feet high, made of scraps of chicken wire, discarded screen windows and assorted rags tacked to a frame of rotten boards propped against the low brick wall separating the roofs.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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