Pigeon's-Eye View: Chapter 4I stand straddling my bike and glancing back and forth between the address I wrote on the back of the business card and the squat cinder-block building with the same set of numbers tacked above the door. This can’t be it. I can’t imagine this place in any way resembling a phoenix, although it’s not a stretch to picture it reduced to ashes. I shrug, pocket the card and swing my leg down from the side of my bike. As I wheel it up the cracked sidewalk, I think I hear the soft sound of kittens mewing. I stop and cock my ear toward the sound. Not kittens; now it sounds like a child’s voice. But I can’t tell if it’s laughing or cryiPigeon's-Eye View: Chapter 4
