The gallery wasn’t on her map. The streets were familiar because she had been nearby the day before to have lunch with some friends.
“Straight ahead” the first person said “and then turn left straight away.”
It was a strange space, more like a private courtyard with a few shops but nothing that resembled a gallery.

“I’m very sorry, I can’t help you” apologised the woman with the dog. “I’ve never heard of that place.”

“Try asking her” replied another woman as she struggled to get her young son’s stroller through the gate. “She is always standing there.”

It was only when the visitor walked passed the discarded box for the second time she realised what was happening.

“Why do you feed the pigeons everyday?” he asked in an exasperated tone.
“They add life and colour to to the city and there have always been pigeons in Rome” she replied.
“But they are filthy and they shit all over the place”.
“They are my friends and they love the wheat I feed them”.

“You are just a crazy bird lady”, he snapped “you waste your money on wheat and nobody likes them except you”.
“That’s not true” said the woman “the tourists like them too. See over there, one is taking photos of the pigeons as we speak”.

Fifteen minutes later they were still arguing and the pigeons were still hungry.