THE SANDWICH

A good friend, whose life includes a few years as a mercenary and a stint in a foreign prison, is regularly held hostage by terrorists. Specifically, crows. He had to bribe them with part of his sandwich to leave the house. Corvids aren't very tech-savy, and didn't realize that he photographed them, so that they could be identified.

So if you see these four feathered gentlemen, call the cops.
They are considered winged and dangerous.
Part of a sandwich. Lunch time.
Oh, the humanity.


Don't worry, a holographic message has been sent to Obi Wan Kenobi.


What I'm concerned about is the sandwich. Was it one of those lettuce containing monstrosities that Americans are so fond of, or was it actually good bread, no buggery lettuce, and maybe Ardenner ham or a country pâté? A nice toasty bánh mì perhaps? Because if it was just sliced gluey supermarket baloney, with lettuce and pickles, I can absolutely understand the crows being upset. 

And I sympathize with them.


There's a good reason why crows haven't joined our society.
It those frightful sandwiches with lettuce.
And spongy American bread.


He photographs the crows a lot. It's obsessive.


They probably discarded the inedible green crap and cotton wool, and feasted on the dead rat within. The best part.




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