On a ledge overlooking Venice, I - the most experienced, sharp-eyed pigeon of this city - watched the humans below. Humans - funny creatures, barely evolved enough to make it to work without panicking every time they set foot outside. Some days, they act like emperors of the world; other days, they move in packs, like the schools of fish they trap on their plates.

I've been here long enough to know them well. Every morning, they pour onto the cobblestone paths, not so different from the rippling canals beside them. They rush and push, following invisible signs as if any detour might throw their lives off balance. I puffed up my feathers, glancing at the bustling crowd below. Humans, it turns out, are as predictable as pigeons - no, more so, and with less charm.

But today, ah, today I had a target. My gaze settled on The Crumb - a glistening morsel tossed carelessly by a hurried pedestrian, lying precariously close to the edge of the main canal. In Venice, you learn quickly that food left on the ground is a rarity; the tourists usually hog everything, too busy feeding themselves or snapping pictures to even think of sharing. And that crumb? Just sitting there, tempting me? Fate itself seemed to be testing my patience.

Before making my move, I surveyed the crowd again. "Ah," I muttered to myself, "humans and their little games." They dress in colors like pigeons trying to disguise themselves, and the way they flock into lines at the coffee shops - their precious morning routines - never fails to amuse me. Individually, they fancy themselves unique, standing out with bold hats or peculiar shoes. But as soon as one of them stops to look at something, two, three, ten others stop to do the same, like some instinctual herd reaction. Herd thinking. I chuckled, ruffling my feathers; their "independence" fades away with the faintest pull of curiosity. My flock - if I could call them that - had sharper instincts.

But it wasn't just their habits. Humans have this odd, deeply embedded belief in their own mastery of the world. Look at Venice itself, a city on water! They've managed to build monuments that defy gravity, yet they trip over the simplest of stones. And while they pretend to conquer the canals with their water taxis and gondolas, they're at the mercy of something as trivial as rain. This city was theirs, but they barely owned it.

Enough musings; The Crumb was waiting. Taking a deep breath, I swooped from my perch, my wings cutting through the air like knives. Venice spread out beneath me, and for a brief, glorious second, I felt the freedom that no human could know, despite all their empires and ambitions.

Just as I neared the crumb, I caught sight of a bright red gondola sliding past on the water. Some over-dressed tourists were lounging inside, clicking away on their cameras, their faces lit up by their screens more than by the sun. A faint smile crossed my beak. How do they enjoy a city they see only through lenses?

I narrowed my focus back to The Crumb and landed gracefully just beside it. It was even more perfect up close, rich and crusty, like the kind the caf� tourists toss on the steps of San Marco's Basilica. But as I prepared to snatch it, I noticed something I'd missed - a pair of large, looming boots shuffling down the street, directly in my path. My instincts kicked in, and I fluttered back just in time, giving the human a disdainful look as they passed.

Humans. Always in the way, always thoughtless of who else might need a meal. I watched as a few more strolled by, entirely oblivious, locked in their own heads. Even here, in one of the most historic, beautifully complex cities on the planet, they rarely seem to look at it. They're too busy searching for souvenirs or squinting at their maps, trying to tick another box off their list. It's as if they treat Venice like a temporary amusement, rather than an ancient city alive with stories.

I darted back toward The Crumb, finally snagging it. But just as I lifted off with my prize, a loud, high-pitched whistle pierced the air, making me wince. Down the path, a tour guide waved a flag, rallying a new flock of tourists. They herded around her, clutching their cameras, their heads bobbing up and down, echoing the same bewildered expressions. They shuffled in close, bumping elbows and turning to each other like pigeons crowding for breadcrumbs.

I soared back to my perch, shaking my head, The Crumb secure in my beak. Settling down, I watched the herd drift off in pursuit of the guide. Tourists, I thought, forever hunting for history, yet barely understanding a fragment of it.

Finally, I pecked at The Crumb, savoring the hard-won bite. As I chewed, I took in the grand view of Venice once more, the canals glinting under the late morning sun. Humans might believe they own this city, but they're just passing through, each visitor more oblivious than the last. They scurry through it, leaving behind crumbs and trinkets, while I, a mere pigeon, have claimed it as my own.

I finished my meal and ruffled my feathers, casting one last look at the crowd below. They'd keep moving, snapping pictures, oblivious to the fact that Venice herself would outlast them all. They were the visitors here. I was the resident.

As I settled in to watch the next group of tourists crowd around the square, I couldn't help but smile. Let them keep their maps and their cameras. I had the better view - and the crumbs to prove it.

In the end, they'd all leave, returning to their homes, while I'd remain - Venice's true overseer, a humble pigeon, watching with keen eyes, waiting for the next crumb, and basking in the strange comedy of human lives.

With a twitch of my tail, I settled back on my perch, ready to observe tomorrow's herd. Who knew what antics they'd bring? For now, I was content to wait and watch, the true king of Venice.