beachhouses: home to foul-feathered friends

Crammed together in crooked rows somewhere near a New York shore is a cluster of boarded-up beachhouses. Whether they were once the summer homes of city vacationers or year round residences is unknown. The interiors are cramped- I bet the whole family hated each other by the season's end. The only residents today are flying rats, commonly known as pigeons, who have chosen to decorate in their favorite medium- pigeon shit. They have discovered it makes an excellent floor & wall covering and - my god- is that shit on the ceiling? Now that's a talented bird!

We hopped on top of a garage (careful of those electric wires) and climbed up to a back porch to get access. A once boarded shut door had been loosened, presumably by another curious explorer, but I wouldn't put it past one of those feisty birds. Foolishly, I stepped in first and was immediately assaulted by one of our foul-feathered friends. I backed quickly out the door and put on my mask and hat- this location called for serious protection. We were heading into the bird's territory now- we had no weapons and they had dive bombers. We were doomed from the start.

My two brave comrades headed in before me after we donned our gear and tried to shoo away a stubborn soldier who repeatedly dove after us. While we were able to explore the front rooms, we had to retreat without exploring a final back room. A pigeon stood guard firmly on the molding over the door and no amount of pebbles could scare it off. We finally felt guilty for invading it's space. It was probably trying to protect some eggs somewhere, so for that we turned back. That and the overwhelming STENCH was really getting to us. Strangely enough, as we headed to our next destination, we found a fresh lemon on the ground, which I inhaled deeply to get rid of the scent of Pigeon No. 2 stuck up my nose.