The Chicken

Today one of our older girls came back to the orphanage from her home province with her two sisters. She's maybe 19 or so. I saw that she was carrying a black chicken in her hand, so I called her over to ask about it.

"Where did you get that chicken?"

"I brought him from my province, of course!"

[P.S.: That means that she was holding the chicken in her hands while in a shared taxi with herself, her two sisters, and probably 7 other people, in the car the size of a Toyota Camry, for three to six hours]

"Can I touch him? Will he bite?"

"Mmhm, he's very nice, you can touch him. Don't you know that all chickens don't bite? Unless you try to take their babies."

So I touched him for a little while and he was nice and soft and didn't bite.

"What do you want to do with him?"

"I want to eat him."

Peace out.