In a section of their own called "Long Story Short" or dispersed among five other sections of a manuscript called Natural Causes--six Stan Still songs will go one way or the other. But's that for later, after I tell you about the potential tenants' revolt here in my apartment building.
Apparently what is happening is that my zealous pursuit of rock dove eradication has multiplied their presence on other people's balconies. The balcony straight north, for instance, presents a new skyline: pile of dung next to the barbecue.
Just now when I threw my bag of household garbage into the dumpster, I heard a voice coming from any of five half-open windows or balcony doors. "Hey buddy. Carry your share of the pigeon load, why don't you."
("Rock doves," some other voice yelled, correcting the first. "But I agree about the load.")
It's getting a bit tense. Anyone I meet on the stairs looks at me like I'm the sherrif or something. And all because I've kept my mornings free of rock doves and their cooing, so that I may better hear the busses idling loudly across the alley.