Breakfast Scramble

Dropped from the water tank ladder straight into the morning gravel. My gut rumbled with hollow force. Beside the brick wall sat an unsealed wooden crate, its corner split wide. Inside lay a dried crust of dense bread left behind by maintenance workers. Stiff as cured timber. I lunged in, clamped my serrated jaws over the hard crust, and bit down until the grain cracked with a dry snap. Chewed hard, swallowed, and stomped both hind feet on the crate edge. Belly stoked. Patrol resumes.