sunday morning at work there was a chicken in the parking lot.

sunday morning at work i was making orange juice and there was a chicken in the parking lot.

sunday morning at work i was making orange juice and the owner’s mom came in and said that there was a chicken in the parking lot.

“i fed him some cracked wheat!” she said.  i was making orange juice.

i was making orange juice, smashing orange halves with this old metal juicer that looked like an antique farm implement.  everyone wanted to see the chicken in the parking lot.

everyone wanted to see the chicken in the parking lot, so we went outside and clustered on the sidewalk near the door.

i was making orange juice.  we went outside and clustered on the sidewalk near the door.  we watched the chicken peck its way through parking spaces and cigarette butts and bottlecaps.

sunday morning at work there was a chicken in the parking lot.  we watched it peck its way through parking spaces and cigarette butts and bottlecaps.  we watched it peck at the grass near the curb.  we watched it run across the street in front of a pickup truck.

we watched it run across the street in front of a pickup truck.  the driver braked, and the tires squealed.

i was making orange juice, smashing orange halves with this old metal juicer that looked like an antique farm implement.  each orange squirted an inch of juice into the bottom of a pint glass.

sunday morning at work there was a chicken in the parking lot.  one of the customers waved me, a waitress, over to her table and said, “hey, did you know there’s a chicken in the parking lot?”

“yes,” i said.  “we are aware of the chicken.”

“are we going to eat its eggs?” the man at the table said to me, a waitress.  he was drinking orange juice.

“no,” i replied.

sunday morning at work there was a chicken in the parking lot.