ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
A French Quarter leasing agent was told there was a territorial magpie down Rue De Enculer – but he didn’t care.
It takes more than just a bird to worry Mark Donald.
As he clip-clopped down the footpath in his scuffed Florsheims, the crotch in his plastic Tarocash trousers worn so thin it’s almost skin on skin, the 26-year-old go-seeker clutched his briefcase and kept his eyes on the trees.
A glint of movemnt in the corner of his eye. The magpie left from a branch.
High noon on Rue De Enculer. Mark stopped and turned to face the bird,
“Come on, you cunt,” he said softly to himself.
The hot flush and film of adrenal sweat burst from his brow. His breathing fast and shallow. Tighter and
As the bird drew near, he wound back his arm with the briefcase at the ready. With a might woosh, the magpie was swatted from the sky. The second thud as it hit the cement was just as loud as the initial impact.
In front of terrified onlookers, Mark stamped on the magpie until it was visibly dead.
He attempted to leave the scene but the French Quarter rollerblade police managed to intercept Mark a short while down the
More to come.