It's dawn. I gotta get going. I Gotta call Sam and the boys and round up everyone so we can go down to Oak Park and get a nice breakfast.

The Mexicans had a party there last night--there's bound to be something good.

"Awk-Awk-Awkkkkkk!"

"Awk-Awk-Awk-Awkkkk!," Sam returns my caw.

I fly real fast to meet up with my boys, my murder, my mob.

There they are in the large Oak tree just waiting. There's Bobby and Danny on foot scoping out the place so no humans or hawks are around. It looks safe to me.

I fly up to Sam and ask him what's up. He says there's some stale tortilla in that trash can below. He advises us to just dip it into some water so it softens up and becomes chewable.

Sam has our back. He's the senior; he has a bigger wingspan than the rest of us. We trust him. He's the John Wayne of crows, a crow's crow.

It's my turn to forage for food. Gotta do it quick. Can't dilly-dally. Those garbage collecting humans might be around soon; they steal the food and pour it down their noisy trucks. So I gotta speed up and collect my goodies. There's some lettuce and stale tortilla. Yes!

I collect as much as I can in my beak and I bring it back to the nesting site. We are a socialist group. Everyone gets an equal share of the food. We're not greedy--it's all about our tribe, our murder.