This seems to be the perfect spot, Bernard Hoskins thought to himself. This is my chance to strike it rich and take the picture that other photographers can only dream of taking. I can snap some pictures of George Clooney coming out of the shower up here and never be noticed.

Mr. Hoskins is a simple man trying to make it as a small time Hollywood photographer. He had taken some decent photos here and there, but nothing that he could live off of or make a decent amount of money with. His pictures were not good enough for him to move out of the slums of LA. Big time magazines laughed at him when he submitted his photos to be printed in their magazines. Today would be his big break, just a little while longer.

“Come on, hurry up and get out of the shower George,” said Bernard out loud. “You are going to be my one way ticket to the American Dream.” He raised the camera to his face and zoomed in on the bedroom window where George would walk by any second.

The day was a hot one and sweat kept dripping down into Bernard’s eyes, making it difficult to see through his camera lens. He was precariously placed on a ledge that was taller than half of the sky scrapers in the city. One false or sudden movement could very well cause him his life. He could hear pigeons right above him and he hoped that they didn’t get in the way and ruin his shots.

This was it; he could see a small film of steam creep over the floor of the bedroom. Time seemed to stop as George came walking slowly into the room, completely nude. He seemed to fill the entire room with his graceful presence. The steam was gone and Bernard snapped to attention and took as many shots as he could within these few seconds. He had done it; millions of dollars would be poured into his hands as soon as the press got hold of these photos. He would have to go back to his darkroom and develop the film first. Bernard un-strapped the camera and held it up as if it were a trophy.

“High time here I come,” he said to himself out loud. “No more scraping change together to pay the bills. No more filthy apartment in the slums of the city. No more-.”

Just as he was about to finish his gloating, a pigeon flew down and snatched the strap of the camera in its beak and tried to fly away with Bernard’s prize.

“Hey!” cried Bernard. “Get back here, that is my new life you are trying to steal and I want it back.” Bernard stood quickly, took a step forward and reached for the bird. He realized what he had done milliseconds too late. Bernard could do nothing but fall to his death as the bird flew calmly away with his millions of dollars worth of photos.

The bird flew for a short distance before realizing it didn’t want the camera anymore. It flew down to a ledge on a nearby apartment building and set down the valuable camera. It waited until someone came out, and then the pigeon flew away.

A short, plump, red faced man came out of the sliding door out onto the ledge of his home and gazed at the camera for a few moments before picking it up to examine it. “This is one of those crappy, old cameras that need a dark room to see the pictures,” he said. “I don’t have any use for this; I have my own brand new digital camera at my disposal.” He simply tossed the camera over the ledge into a nearby dumpster, completely oblivious to the fact that the camera was worth a great fortune to anyone who developed the film in it.