“We were fucking bushed, man,” Bridges said. “It was very hard to smile, and any jokes that were coming out of Robin were dim. I look over and I see a couple of crates under this bridge. And I tap Robin and motion to him, and we sit on these crates. And as soon as our asses hit the crates, a whole bevy of pigeons—there must have been about twenty of ’em up there on the bridge—decide to just unload on us. They shit all over us. And it goes on and on. And then it goes on a little bit more. That was it. And we just looked at each other, and we didn’t smile or laugh. It was like fucking Jack
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