Deep Fried with Slaw on the Side Katherine Seluja
Squawking in the early hours. White fluff all over the yard. It was always about those damn chickens. Leghorn and Rhode Island Red. And now here you are, laboring in a loft above the coop. How did high on the hog turn to peck and scratch so quickly? Only a few fowl-free years back, you were living smooth as a freshly plucked thigh. Of course, there had been a few bumps. The night you swallowed down two cartons of eggs with a bottle of GoLytely. That Tyson’s Family cook-off
