Because my thinking tends toward the catastrophic, I've been worried that this past winter might be just too much for the birds. Were this to be the case, I might as well leave Brooklyn -- after all, I came here because of the parrots.
But low and behold, around five o'clock, in Bay Ridge, I heard what sounded like a machine with sand in its gears. It was, of course, a bunch of parrots having an argument. I looked up and one of the parrots flew right down and landed next to me on a metal railing.
The parrot didn't say anything -- he just gave me one of those stern Brooklyn looks that indicated "we've been here all the time, buddy -- where the heck have YOU been?" Then he flew off and went back to work.
These parrots aren't going anywhere.