The second last piece of chicken

 I'm not a big fan of chicken. Or beef. Or pork. Or mutton. Or lamb. I do like fish but developed an allergy to prawns in my old age. As if gravity pulling my entire body to the earth with twice as much gusto wasn't enough, now I can't eat prawns either. Well, fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck.

Moving on, I had such lovely crispy chicken yesterday all layered up in the sauce of perfection that I wanted to take it all the way to Dubai from Colombo and pledge my undying loyalty to it. I am a bona-fide fan on the crispy chicken at the Bay leaf restaurant in the city of Colombo. I'll come back for you another day, my love, you beautiful Crispy Chicken.

And I'll never forget the aching sadness in my tummy when I looked at the second last piece of you with the knowing that soon you'll be drowned in bitter digestive juices and become a part of me. Au revoir, Chicken.

I love you.

And now, I must run.

Until later,

Stay feral, kids!

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