Deer in the City

A canary grinned at me. The bird has lived in my apartment for over two years and it’s never grinned at me before. Its teeth looked like Jack Nicholson’s. Straight and white as the keys of a piano.

Unnerved, I stumbled into the street and tripped over a fire hydrant somebody had capped with a derby hat to pass off as a short person. I fell face first on a manhole and was run over by a deer.

“There’s a deer in the city!” hollered a flâneur, pointing ... Everybody pulled out their handguns and started to chase it. The deer glanced over its shoulder, shrieked in terror and accelerated ... It leapt over cars, newspaper stands and snoring bums with the grace of an Olympic gymnast.

After the deer was gunned down and stripped of its hide and meat, which was divided evenly among its pursuers, I hurried back inside to see if the canary was still grinning. It was. “So it’s true,” I said. The canary nodded.

I stumbled back into the street. This time somebody had capped the fire hydrant with a pair of antlers. I tripped over it, fell face first onto a manhole and was run over by the fire hyrdant.

“There’s a deer in the city!” hollered the flâneur, pointing ...