Confused seagulls sat on a beach thinking to themselves about their lives. They watched the boats and saw children running by the ocean. They thought of chips. Are there any chips around. Chips. Hunger pangs caused them to ruffle their feathers. Their beaks twitched nervously. They realized one of them would have to go over to the chip shop and try nick some. They played Paper-Rocks-Scissors and Justin lost. He grumbled as he flew over, rain falling heavy. He landed on the parapet and started watching the customers intently. Who was most likely to turn their head for long enough, or shaky enough to drop a few fat, juicy chips onto the ground.
He waited for twenty minutes as long lines of customers stuffed hot chips into their mouths and continued on in the rain to see the magic shows. Glancing back he noticed the others were agitated. He had been gone quite a while now.
Finally an old man shaking profusely edged over with a bright pound coin sparkling in his dead fingers. He grabbed the hot bag of chips and started waddling over to a bench. Justin struck. He managed to grab the entire bag out of the pensioners hands and flew hysterically back to the others, swaying up and down while trying to negotiate the weight of the bag.
When he arrived they all tore the bag to shreds and sat back feeling the warm, salty bliss of hot chips digesting in their stomachs.