Riding half-drunk to Prospect Park in Brooklyn one humid July eve, I approached a gaggle of pigeons. They all took flight and scattered except for this one, who just made a walking bee-line for my front tire. I was in a compromising position with riders on either side of me, so it was like, "No way... No... Ah, c'mon man, don't do it... Maaaaaan, just don'(SMACK!!!)". Crazy bird just up and flew away, though I still felt like a Ted Nugent ******.