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2 hazelnuts

1 slingshot

1 pigeon

Butter

NaCl to taste

Pepper to taste

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            Bloom briefly trotted around the kitchen before planting his elbows on the windowsill over the sink and fixing his gaze skyward. Large flock overhead. Pigeons flying in their aerial frenzy. Could I? He picked up a hazelnut from the cupboard and rolled it between his fingers. Perfectly doable so long as the bird supply does not run dry. A bead of excitement swelled within him. Hope its still there. Ah! Trusty slingshot from boyhood. All the tools I need.

            An approach must be computed, of course. Sixty degrees is a proper angle. Initial speed of one hundred fifty feet per second, so good velocity on the vertical. Pigeons cruise consistently at thirty feet at a speed of seventy feet per second. Thus, I must position myself a firm seventeen point three feet behind the expected collision site. Of course, the pigeon’s movement must be accounted for. Simple, really. It is simple enough to calculate that the critical moment of the flight will be reached in just shy of a quarter of a second, and thus the projectile must be released when the avian is sixteen point eight feet away from where I want it. Enough daydreaming. The flock will not last long.

            Bloom skipped out of his home and positioned himself, dictated by his own mathematics, and waited. At last, a pigeon with ample plumage fluttered along at the correct specifications. Bloom loaded his slingshot with a hazelnut cocked, waiting for the precise moment. He unleashed his grip to see the nut fly U.P.: up and bomp! David could not have done better himself. The pigeon fell through its final gracious arc in one point three seven seconds, in accordance, of course, to the thirtytwo feet per second per second pull.

            Must pick it up before a dog has at it. As he approached the expired bird, Bloom struggled to locate his emotions for the catastrophe. Worse up close. Spent so long caught up in the scientific possibilities that the moral obligations were cast aside. No use fretting now. Dead is dead.

            Returned to his kitchen, Bloom plucked and cooked the pigeon. It slid from pan to plate, garnished with a sole hazelnut. Quite still. Not lifeless, though. The pigeon was departed, but with proper soil and water and sunlight, the hazelnut may grow new flesh.