Just a window, facing out onto a weather worn street, pigeons perched precariously, looking in, waiting for the elderly lady, the barest of shadows moving, the window opens.

One by one the pigeons hop onto the misshaped aged window frame, as each in turn is fed.

Flags on the nearby tree flutter slightly in the gentle breeze. A shadow on the bench watches as the pigeons, one by one fly away, full and happy.

Leaving behind the shadows to their silence.

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