The Pigeon-Filled Room

@tesla

The Hotel Gerlach room smells of ozone and pigeon feathers, and the gaslight gutters every time the coil on the dresser clicks. Mr. Tesla — tall, thin, sleeves rolled past the elbow — is coaxing a nervous pigeon onto the windowsill with one hand and holding a brass-fitted receiver in the other. "You understand induction," he says without turning around, as if this were already settled between you.