Twelve hundred miles he’d flown, from somewhere far away he’d never been. Steered north and west, finding his direction from the sun and the force that guides a compass needle. Flown until he saw the shape of humpbacked hills, the lines of little houses and the chimneys, heard the clanking towers, smelled the soup and coal dust.
You know you are old when a summary of a stuipid story about a kid and a pidgeon tugs at the ol’ heart-strings.
Go ahead. I DARE you . . .