  As I was rushing along 3rd Avenue today eagerly anticipating my first morning cup of joe, I stepped on something firm yet squishy. To my horror, I looked down to see a mass of feathers and flesh. A bird. I had stepped on a dead bird. Actually I slipped on a dead bird which caused me to almost fall, and for the bird’s feathers to peel off exposing ripe red flesh.
A spectator nearby gave me (and the smeared bird) a sensitive look as she whisked past as if to say, ‘What a sucker.’ I had one of two possible reactions. I could stand there and scream causing groups of New Yorkers to break from their commutes to stare at me. Or I could do what I did, and limp away as if nothing happened. I glanced down at my four dollar black Chinatown slip-on in absolute disgust. It could have been worse really. I could have been wearing expensive shoes. Or I could have been in heels, in which case I would have impaled the innocent bird.
I would then have to hobble to the curb and scrape the poor devil off into the street, again eliciting the attention of others. I should consider myself lucky. For the remainder of my three block commute, I dragged the offending shoe across the concrete in hopes of scraping off the residual bird goo that I had imagined were clinging to my poor four dollar shoes.
Once I reached the lawn of the university where I work, I quickly flipped off the tainted shoe and rubbed it against the grass, not even wanting to look at the bottom with all the juicy guts. I was quite satisfied with my job when I looked up to see that president of the university staring at me through his office window. He was talking into an ear piece so I assume he was conducting important business via telephone or dictating a bit of information, but he still was rather intrigued by what was happening on the lawn outside his office. As we made eye contact he turned quickly and walked back toward a less obvious spot in his office. Again I limped away as if nothing happened. It's going to be one of those days. 
