Peskar the wharf raven liked it in the city. The only other birds there were pigeons. They were thought to be stupid but only pigeons prospered in the city. They were smart enough, they just hadn’t much to say.

That’s why Peskar liked them. They weren’t dumb and they didn’t talk. Their soft cooing comforted him; the noise a mother makes to assure her child. It was constant and consistent unlike so many other things.

The odd time he would meet other ravens and crows. When they realised he lived in the city they were baffled.

“It’s crazy here. How do you live?”

The city’s irregularity disturbed them most.

“The sun never goes down in the city. People are always churning about. And the noise, the noise!”

If he wanted to refute them Peskar could have pointed out how regular the city was compared to the places they lived. The noise was constant. Not like in the countryside where serenity prevails until a sudden tractor comes barking down the lane or some farmer decides to shoot at you.

In the city you always have shelter if it rains, you don’t have to fly off in search of a barn or a church to hide in. There’s food everywhere, always. No endless searching, hoping to glimpse a worm or a freshly sown field.

People move predictably. They come in waves. A big wave in the morning. A smaller wave spread out in the afternoon. Another big wave in the evening.

As for the sun never going down, well that’s hardly an irregularity.The sun goes down at different times each day in the country. Here it’s consistent; it never goes down.

But he didn’t tell them these things. He didn’t want them to get any ideas and hang around.