IT'S THE CHICKEN!

Follows a brief e-mail from Savage Kitten. It clarifies the chicken-slaughtering note in the previous post.


Mud in one's eye


Oy, it's almost too much, seeing T--- on Sunday, then D--- today.
That's Tomahawk Face, the "I am a Self-Appointed Judge of the Arts" 60 something year old white woman. As usual, she was waiting for the bus. Still as well-dressed as ever and yet someone I wish to NOT know.

This being AFTER I'd helped (with 4 others also with assorted cleavers) trim 437 lbs of chicken quarters at C--- H--- half a block down. Oddly fun, dealing with webs and clumps of chicken fat. So no doubt I looked radiant with hours well spent, my inner beauty obvious.

Anyway, outside the Chinatown library, there's a different well-dressed white woman (where do these people come from?!) with two toned high heels. She's on her cell phone and asks, "is there usually blood in his stool?" See? Interesting day so far, and I've yet to pop in on The Momster with a (cooked) chicken.


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AFTERWORD

Of course, the question you must now ask yourself is "does someone who has just finished trimming 437 pounds of chicken" have a glow of radiant inner beauty, or is that a distinct whiff?"
You must ask yourself this. Do not ask me. Trust me, that's a glow of radiant inner beauty. And you had better think so too.