The Raven And The Crow

The raven saw the crow perched on the church spire in the middle of town and demanded he make himself scarce.

"I'm the king of the birds and I deserve the best roost."

The crow scoffed. "I don't think so."

The raven puffed up his feathers and flapped his wings threateningly, but the crow was unimpressed. As they were almost exactly the same size, it was unclear who would win in a fight.

"You're a crow, no different than me. Just because one time a woman mistook you for a raven doesn't mean you're better than the rest of us."

The Raven

George hated the raven outside his window. For weeks it had perched on the sill, staring in at him. He thought about shooting it, but he could barely kill a spider. Besides, he didn't have a gun.

He hated the way the raven mocked him. The silent condemnation of his friends and family was bad enough, but the raven held nothing back, insulting the way George dressed, the way he ate his cereal, the fact he was a virgin.

Eventually George decided to move to another neighborhood. The raven watched him leave with contempt but he kept his beak shut.

Value

No one understood the value of something as well as Mr. Henderson. He pushed his shopping cart up and down Jamaica Hills, watching everything with the eyes of a raven. He could spot a scrap of discarded metal from 200 yards away.

Mr. Henderson would never let you litter. He'd eat your bread crusts or use your cigarette butts to line his jacket. And he could fix anything. Nothing was ever too broken for Mr. Henderson.

I always wonder what happened to Mr. Henderson. The last time I saw him, he was unconscious in that storm drain, surrounded by paramedics.