The sun came up blazing on Easter morning and since it had been raining for two days straight, the crows decided to fly up Highway 57 and see what they could see. All the cars went in the same direction toward the Big Church, but there was a truck, a big red truck that came north from town and it looked promising. The crows banked and followed the truck past the plumbing company, past the vacant lot for Lease to Own, and past the soybean field where they had a Rock For Jesus concert last summer and 10,000 motorcycles had come to town for that, well, talk about plenty of half eaten corn dogs and caramel popcorn, and little gummie candies shaped like the Lord strewn all over that field after the people and the stage that held the enlightened but not very talented musicians were gone. The crows didn't know that Rock For Jesus would never come back to town because there had been a 10 mile traffic jam and a knife fight in the pool hall at the back of town where a black man was murdered because he said Jesus didn't do much for him and he didn't see the sense in riding motorcycles all over God's green earth to prove that one's love of Jesus was true. All the crows knew was that they ate real well for a few days, and for the first time ever maybe, nobody cared if Coyote showed up and helped himself.
So just when the truck was getting close to the Indian crossroads, just when the crows were about to give up on it, the passenger window rolled down and a big hairy arm flung a Bojangles bag out where it tore open in the wind and all it's papery and flaky biscuit remainders jettisoned like rocket fuel over a foreign ocean just before the jet makes an emergency landing. The truck lurched away from it's dumped payload and the crows were ecstatic.
Big Crow: Paydirt!
Crooked Crow: What I tell you man? It's always the red Chevys, always.
Big Crow: No time to lose Brother, no time to lose.
The crows swooped down, lowered their landing gear and took immediate inventory.
Crooked Crow: Well lookie here, I got myself a half eaten sausage biscuit with cheese.
Big Crow: Virginia Ham here boy, and for some reason, they only ate the bottom half of the biscuit, didn't touch the ham!
Crooked Crow: Virginia Ham tends to be tough, some people don't realize salt cured ham can be hard on the teeth, so they toss it. I've found plenty of Virginia Ham on the side of the road, but to find pork sausage of such quality with American cheese? This is truly some sort of manna from God.
Big Crow: Got me some coffee with cream here too, and I'm guessing. . . yop, that's two sugars and that's real cream, not the non-dairy stuff. Bring that sausage over here Brother.
Crooked Crow picks up the sausage with the cheese clinging mightily to it and hops toward Big Crow. He drops it at the mouth of the coffee cup and goes back to collect the half of biscuit that was so heartlessly tossed out with the sausage.
Crooked Crow: Brother, do you see what else we've been blessed with this morning?
Big Crow: That's not what I think it is, is it?
Crooked Crow: It is, it is . . . it's two unopened containers of grape jelly. And a sweet tea that managed to land upright, spared of lemon. Brother, we are kings this morning -- kings!
Big Crow and Crooked Crow delve into the task eating without another word; they know that a find like this is rare, and risky. The vultures were already riding the warm air currents and soon they would pick up the delicious scent of the crow's fortunate find. Ground Hog was never averse to inviting himself to dine roadside, and being a loud mouth by nature, could easily bring Raccoon out for a mid-morning snack. Dogs were a constant bother, especially a white shepherd owned by the farmer who saw himself as nothing but completely superior to those who slept outside, as though having a Man's roof over his head made him superior to all other four-leggeds. But worst of all, haste had to be made of this gastronomical gold because of Coyote. Once Coyote got wind of the Virginia Ham, he'd be in his Eldorado so fast that the doors of the Big Church would blow open with his furious disturbances of time and space.
Big Crow pecked and pecked at the Virginia Ham and seized upon his coffee with cream and two sugars, and just when the caffeine began to make him high, he heard the roar of an engine.
Big Crow: You hear that?
Crooked Crow: Hear what?
Big Crow: That . . .
Crooked Crow: I don't hear anything except this here American Cheese, do you know what it's saying?
Big Crow: What's it saying brother?
Crooked Crow: It's saying, "To think I was driving up the highway in the hands of some hairy man, and instead, here I am, take me!"
Big Crow: Yer crazy. Cheese don't talk like that . . . wait, there it is again! Do you hear that?
Crooked Crow: Yer crazy, I don't hear anything.
Big Crow: Aw shit, here he comes.
Crooked Crow: Oh man!
Big Crow: I told you I heard something.
Crooked Crow: Coyote, damn Coyote.
Big Crow: Listen, get that piece a sausage and I'll take this half a biscuit and we'll run for it.
Crooked Crow: Okay, but every time we fly with something You-Know-Who always shows up.
Big Crow: Hawk?
Crooked Crow: Yeah.
Big Crow: Don't worry about him today, I heard he's got bigger fish to fry . . .
The two crows grab what they can and take flight, they make one large circle over the highway as Coyote pulls over and steps out of the Eldorado. He looks up at them and down at what's left, a piece of Virginia Ham and a teaspoon of Sweet Tea. He shakes his head and then his fist at the two crows as they fly away.
Big Crow: Not a bad morning brother, not bad at all
Crooked Crow: yeah, but I still wanna know where he got that car.