by Michael J. Solender
Torrents of downy white flowed, a never ending river. Docile orbs with bits of lemony orange appendages. The rapidity at which they progressed was stunning. My job: Keep things moving. Upside down, their throats were neatly slit; they would be in the butcher case that afternoon. Chicken has a whole new meaning for me now.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Temp Job
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6 comments:
What a beautiful description of such a horrible scene.
The food chain ain't pretty - although this kind of was.
i'm a bad person. i laughed.
Chickens have feathers? I thought they just had crispy skin with various secret spices. Great micro Michael
Loved it, and like Quin, I laughed. Cool piece!!
Jeanette Cheezum
We're all sick. I thought you did will with 55.
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