The Doughnut hawks


Each morning after completing my exercise duties at the club, I go over to Rabba Fine Foods to collect a couple of apples. But should weather permit, I take a little detour and stroll along Sherlock Holmes Walk.

The walk was so named on September 12, 2001. Unlike the usual sidewalks, this one is not adjacent to a street, but rather between buildings. These 37 tree-lined meters of cobblestone between Asquith Avenue and Church Street provide a little refuge from the direct noise of the street. The walk has a couple of benches offering a place to sit and reflect, as the fictional character of the same name might do.

However, given the prevalence of Doughnut Hawks, a respite may be as fictional a dream as the character who bears the name of the Walk. On most days I see only the gathering flock perched atop its roost awaiting their prey.

On some days, my arrival coincides with the feeding. An older gentleman, mildly bow legged, hobbles across an adjacent parking lot towards the Walk. By his attire he is not a man of means, but by his smile and courtesy, he is a man of sensitivity and dignity. When he reaches the edge, he unfolds a plastic bag and empties its contents onto the ground–a half dozen or so doughnuts.

At this the impatient flock swarms upon the meal without regard to order or conduct; driven to fulfill their most basic urges of sustenance.

He has said the birds like their coffee black


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