Slowly, he crept low to the ground, grazing a leaf on the undergrowth, around the corner with saliva dripping down his chin. He had a specific cacoethes to bring something of quality home to his children. He typically found scraps of premium quality, but cavil with the meager scraps put in the dumpsters he was unsure of his success. It was at the last diner where he could bank on the stoic cook to leave something exceptional. Often it was left on a glass plate by the door, needing only a quick swipe and he could head home. He wanted to prod the other places, letting them know his need, his children were hungry.