Because Birdbaths

are for pussies, the raven chooses to drink from the puddle.

A little mud is good for the digestion. Lingering hints

of gas and exhaust cause a bit of aftertaste, but make his feathers

ripple with rainbow undertones. Taking his time in the middle

of the intersection, he gurgles as the cars stack up. A four-way

stop and none of the five-tonne monsters has the balls to challenge him.

He looks around, caws in triumph before taking another sip.

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