The seagull dropped out of the sky, swinging low over the street corner garabage can and BAM. He hit the paper bag, slam colliding into the bag with the Dairy Queen grease spots, knocking it over into the grass in a mayday mayday dive. The seagull pulled up into a landing, putting out his white wings, orage legs stuck out for the ground.
He'd barely landed, hadn't even folded back his white wings before he struck again. BAM. Head back, neck whipped forward. His beak smashing and wrinkling the brown paper as he side stepped a circle to the left. Striking, striking, striking.
Then the light turned green. It seemed like he should have a name.