It was a while back.
Maybe 2012.
I was out trolling for Pigeon Droppers (some call them ring droppers) and pickings had pretty been pretty slim.
Only two total amateurs.
I was embarrassed for them.
It seemed almost cruel to pretend that they didn't exist.
But I'm a fairly cruel person, so I pretended, that they didn't exist, ignored them and waited for my self-reinforcing result; it came; I got the always satisfying - to me - wails of "monsieur, monsieur" wailed with a Roma accent; and the rest of the day passed uneventfully.
I had been on the north side of the Seine and found myself at Pont Alexandre III; that bridge being almost always a great contact point for pigeon droppers, I turned left, and started to cross the bridge.
No sooner had I broached the bridge than I heard a basso rotundo voice: "Hey, asshole, why are you picking on the little people"?
I did a 360, looking like a 70-year-old ballet dancer who should have retired.
But at least I saw the circumference of possibilities of who the voice had been.
There was no one.
Except this guy.
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