Old Crows. A equals one, and one equals 34. Five caws is crow talk, but I don’t speak a word of it. I listen.
Old Crows bounced sound off of everything when they were young. I was looking at marks on paper in 1971 off of Coney Island. The Fathometer was built by Raytheon. The marks were sand sharks and jellyfish. We limped back to Belford with a line in the rudder that I had refused to jump in the water there to clear.
Old Crows know. They listen. The MIC hears what it wants, and so not the five caws I heard this morning at dawn.
I’m giving them written notice.

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