Grade A Rooftop Poultry: Born and Breed on the Bowery
Friday, February 10th, 2006As I sit here, procrastinating a much needed shower because it’s cold in here and I don’t like to get wet when it’s cold; I think I’ll share with you one of the most bizarre sites I have ever layed eyes on in New York City. Now Naked Cowboy, and large houses driving east on 4th St may already be enough for you, but here’s what happened to me about a week or so ago:
I was talking to my grandma, and I was ranting and raving about Freudian theory because she had just suggested I go study it in Switzerland, to which I had to shout, “You mean study a theory that tells me I’m afraid of spiders because I have a repressed desire to have sex with my father? Are you kidding me? I’m not going to study psychoanalytic theory!”
And if you know me well enough, I pace when I’m on the phone. At this particular time, I was pacing the entire ten shuffles across my apartment from the window to the kitchenette with its listing stove, and back again. Well as I spoke, I took a glance out of my seventh floor window. Ah, pretty garden, nice chickens.
It wasn’t until a good bit later, when I paced back to my window just at the moment in my grandma’s sentence when she was uttering some uninteresting preposition, like “of” perhaps, that I realized… wait a second, those are chickens on that roof over there! There are chickens on a sixth story roof in the middle of the East Village, down the street from CBGB’s, next door to a homeless shelter! Chickens pecking at window boxes that somehow balance on a wall 60 feet in the air. Chickens!
Drea