This bird beats the soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I usually find in the trash at Chessman Park. The thigh is crisp and warm, warmed from the sun, but moist on the inside, like my wife used to make.
A lady, who watched me rummage for food, watches me wipe my mouth with a handkerchief. Bet she’s shocked I bother to clean chicken grease off my hairy chin.
I take another bite and notice a boy slide down the slide. Reminds me of my son.
The boy runs to the lady and says, “Mom, can we get KFC for dinner?”
This is so well written, and appetizing, as dinner time approaches I feel a sudden craving…
Thank you, Barry.
I like this. Do you live in Denver? I did long ago — used to live right next to Chessman Park.
Thanks for reading. I used to live in Colorado. Sometimes places there show up in my stories.