Bitter irony

Behind the pigeon there is a small shop selling fried chickens. There is a joke in Russia (well, frankly, not always a joke) that in such shops they sell not chickens but pigeons, so nobody knows - may be it is the last day for the poor bird.

P.S. It seems I have a desire not only to write about how it goes in Moscow, but also about myself a bit...may be...i'll think over it...