So there I was, standing on the roof of a dilapidated house watching firefighters use high-powered saws to chop up, well, the roof (that doesn’t sound so smart at the moment, but it least the house wasn’t on fire), when the captain pointed out the hawk and the pigeon.

The hawk (maybe it’s a falcon, I don’t know my birds) was perched on a tree in the home’s front yard just about at eye-level. He was chomping on what was left of the pigeon. The buzz of the demolition saws didn’t bother him. He just sat there, eating his pigeon and watching us on the roof — dinner and a show downtown.