Photos by David Lei and Jacqueline Emery

The last time Emery and Lei saw Flaco together, they were on a friend’s rooftop on West 86th Street. With a pigeon clamped firmly in his talons, Flaco flew from a nearby water tower to a spot directly above Emery and Lei. There he lingered, closer than he’d ever been, hooting. He peered down at them between bursts of song.

“It was magical,” Emery said. “I’ll never forget that.”

She paused, too choked up to continue, then added, “He looked so peaceful and happy. We shared that moment with each other.”

Lei said, “It was almost like he was saying hello. And goodbye.”

  • anon6789@lemmy.worldOP
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    2 days ago

    Ed Shanahan, who covered Flaco’s life and death for The Times. “Some saw him as an underdog, others, as an immigrant, still others as an outlaw,”

    Shanahan writes. “More than a few, I imagine, saw him as all those things rolled into one.”