As the pigeons sit and bask in the sundown glow, trying to heat up on a cold spring day, they experience no thoughts beyond pure survival instinct. They have no anxieties over a superficial mistake that will only cost reputation—no, they worry not for things so petty. They have seeds to eat, bagels to steal, lamps to sit on, and miles to fly. The pigeons do not comprehend the extreme power of the white line behind them. They do not know what it took for Homo erectus to develop flight, for they were born with it and shall never know life without. Thus, a pigeon shall only know the purest joy something can experience, for they are so gleefully ignorant that they will never know anything but.