Tuesday, November 15, 2005
I'm waitin at the bus stop readin my cereal like I do when I notice the chicken's starin at me. "Hey there chicken," says me. The chicken keeps on starin. "So," I says. "I hear the egg industry's really goin places." The chicken blinks. I cough a little an start lookin at the table a contents. Hmm, potassium sorbate! The bus pulls up. It's the 57 an I'm waitin for the 83 but I get on anyway. The chicken follows me down the street with its silent chickeny eyes.
I know all the big fancy people here at the big fancy cocktail party - the ambassador, the pope, the potato salad - me an that potato salad go all the way back to high school - but I don't know where this chicken came from. "Why imagine seein you here chicken," says me. "What a fascinatin coincidence." The chicken does not reply. I politely excuse myself an mingle away to the other side a the room. "Do you know that chicken?" I says to the hostess. She is a plate of miniature hot dogs and cannot answer. I leave with many troubling questions.
I'm walkin home from the Pretzel Colloqium when I hear a bunch a tiny, scratchy footsteps behind me. I stop an turn around.
It's the chicken. He's standin about a block away.
"Now Fafnir," I says to myself, "this is a main thoroughfare an that chicken's got just as much right to walk here as you do." I take a left. So does the chicken.
"Now Fafnir," I says to myself, "that chicken probably just happens to be walkin the exact same route you're walkin." I speed up a little. So does the chicken.
The next time I turn around to check on the chicken there's nothin there but the ominous sound a clucking on the night wind.
The phone rings.
"Hello?" says me.
"Gluckl gluckl," says the phone.
"Hello?" says me. "Giblets?"
"Gluckl gluckl," says the phone. There is a click. The police are unable to effectively trace the call.
Chris is knockin on the door sayin he's locked out but we can't let im in without the password. "To prove you aren't the chicken you gotta tell us somethin only the real chicken wouldn't know," says me. Chris is confused. Sorry Chris there can be no exceptions! Chris is left outside to a cold and feathery fate. Oh chicken, is no one safe from your poultrinian madness! "Gluckl gluckl," says the chicken. "I'm worried too, chicken," says me. "I'm worried too."
Labels: true adventures
posted by fafnir at 5:44 PM