In the boiling Korean Summer of 2015 a baby pigeon somehow found its way to my doorway. Covered in its own blood, and shivering from shock, I tried to ignore it and allow nature to take its course. I was of course taught that this was the sensible thing to do. But after several hours of hearing it call for help, and just as a car was about to reverse over it, I decided to scoop it up and see if I could help it become mobile. I was working in Incheon, Korea, at the time, and struggled a lot to find the things I needed to help the little bird. I did not expect it to live through the first night, but it was a fighter and by the second day was drinking and bathing the blood off its feathers. It quickly occurred to me that we were keeping each other company in a place where we were both very alienated. I named the little bird Milton, and it sat on my shoulder as I walked around town, flapping its wings and practicing flight. Separately, we were both quite unremarkable - but together we became a spectacle, the lost english boy with a little flapping pigeon riding upon his shoulder. The neighbourhood cats could burn holes with their stares, but Milton was safe with me. Several days passed and under my protection Milton looked almost set to fly away. By this time he was following me everywhere I went. I have never been able to forget Milton, and continue to sketch him from memory and from this one remaining film I have.
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