Answer #71 - Jonathan Livingston House Finch

I'm in JFK airport, NYC, on my way to London.  At the beginning of a 4-hour layover, I'm literally watching birds fly around here at the indoor (let me say it again - I'm IN the airport) 'concessions' area - the concessions area consisting entirely of: 1 Burger King, 1 Overpriced 'Grill' [with the kind of earthy name that we've grown to expect from our upper-end 'grills' - something involving stone or aspen.. or agate or some such], and 1 Salad/Sandwich kiosk [which is currently out of both salads and sandwiches].

The fun part is the birds, though.

Here inside the airport, there are what appear to be finches (many, many finches) on the tables, on the industrial grade carpets, picking up left over french fries and the like.. hop hopping around and then flying up to the top of the soffit with their fries, just above the flat screen that's streaming CNN.  I think there might be a gigantic finch housing development up there - nests & fries everywhere you look, little chirping baby birds, mouths agape...finches bustling.  What a great place to live!  As long as you're a bird that doesn't care about ever sailing the skies - wind beneath your wings and an endless horizon...

So the question is: With an endless supply of fries and breadcrumbs, what kind of bird would leave?


Maybe Jonathan Livingston House Finch.  You know, the philosopher finch always making the other finches uncomfortable with his musings.  The finch who'd ponder the fries and then try to convince everyone to only scavenge the greens from the kiosk, for the good of their souls.  The guy always questioning a meaningless existence on the soffit.  And while the other birds are happy with CNN ("Come on, Jonathan!  Count your blessings!  At least it's not FOX! Why can't you just be happy with fries and Keith Olbermann?") and airport announcements, he'd no doubt be itching to see what all the scuffle and hullaballoo outside was - with all the big metal birds and their shiny metal wings... and all that sky..  What's out there, behind the glass? 

Now, of course, I'll be looking for the one finch that keeps smacking into the window.

Admit it.  Somewhere in the deep dark past, behind a closed door, under a blanket with a flashlight, you read the book.  And even though you'll never admit it to a living soul, you know that, eventually, with perseverance, he makes it.  To wherever 'it' is.

Well, I gotta go.  Wow. This is absolutely true: a pigeon (that seriously resembles a seagull) just walked past Dave's chair.

See.  Anything's possible.