One chicken that didn’t make it across the boulevard.

Two friends of mine stopped by my apartment tonight, and told me a story about how they’d seen a dead chicken on MLK Boulevard earlier today.

“There was a dead chicken on the road. On MLK, near Fremont. It looked liked it had been healthy, a big, fluffy, all white chicken, with red ganglions. What are those called?”

“It was squished. Like roadkill. It looked like chicken roadkill, it had been run over a few times. I thought it was hilarious. Terresa and her mom were horrified.”

“I thought, there’s no way someone can eat this, it’s too squished.”

“It’s weird to see food on the road.”

“I think that every time I see a deer on the road, ‘someone should get this before it bloats.’ ”

“Well, obviously crows will be eating it, but not humans. You could see a little bit of chicken guts, but otherwise it was frondy, pure white feathers. It would’ve been much less dramatic if it had been a different color chicken, but the fact that it was a pure white chicken roadkill made it surreal.”

“We went to Goldrush [Coffee, on MLK Blvd] afterward, and then a woman in a white chicken costume came in. We started bok boking at her, and she ignored us completely. And then I went and blew on her tail feathers, and she still ignored me. The woman next to us laughed, though, and we told her about the chicken we’d seen on the road.”

“Maybe it’s a devil worshipper! she said.”

“Terresa said, that’s what *I* thought!”

“I don’t like people who go out in costume and then act stoic.”

“I thought someone made her wear that costume, she was so humorless.”

“Goldrush has the best coffee ever, besides Kobos.”

“While we were at Goldrush, we met a woman working there who is starting her own vegan, gluten-free baking business. It’s called Hunter/Gatherer.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

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