Thu, 19 May 2005

kyrgyz wisdom
Out on old 42 there’s this chicken plade, King Judah’s Chicken, nothing but chicken, you can’t even get a Pepsi there. Nobody mind because maybe Judah feed his chickens on the cocaine but I say you cannot stop eating until you’re too sick to chew. I mean I seen men die at the counter, fall right off the stool and somebody jump up and take his spot, ravenous for it. I can’t go so often now that I’m old and have to crawl out to the car and sleep it off, can’t run for three days, but still it’s times you can’t leave it alone, you know how it is. So I’m in there yesterday just on that cliff edge of wantin’ to throw up and in comes this guy, I mean teeth like a wolf, kinky white hair slicked back, shirt open and bouncin’ round in his chest hair he got a silver cross and a shrunken head. This guy steps up to the counter and asks for a three-piece, puts his money down, takes one bite and just cold as the grave says “I thought this was supposed to be good chicken?” and we all just mute up and stare and this guy drops the drumstick with one bite and some ratty lookin’ kid grabs it before it hits the floor and runs off to a corner, but this guy don’t even blink. Now here comes Judah, who I ain’t seen but once and he’s just a little fella but like they say he’ll crawl ya. Judah jumps up to the counter and then up again and grabs this guy by the hair and starts gnawin’ at his face, most disgusting thing I seen since the war, and I just hurl all over the place and stagger out the back and fall asleep in the weeds. Wake up and my wallet’s gone, keys gone, but I had a twenty I keep in my boot for drugs, and I walk right back into King Judah’s and standing on the bloodstained tile order half a bird. Can’t leave it alone.
(12:24.05.19.2005) [/scrytch] #