Chicken
While locking up my bike to the lamp post in front of Duc Loi, the Vietnemese grocer on 22nd and Nicollet, last night, I discovered smashed chicken. The whole bird - perfectly flat. Spread out in the gutter, amidst grimy salt-snow-ice. The legs, extending straight out from behind the bird, first gave me the impression of a rat with gray and scaly skin. But the claws were too large. It was only recognizable as chicken, in the fading light, by the presence of 2 or 3 feathers, clearly of a Rhode Island Red, left on an other-wise indistinguishable wing.
I purchased sriracha sauce, me fruit candy (tamarind paste), and rice noodles. The shop keeper tried to sell me Chinese New Year cakes, wrapped in translucent green wax paper and red ribbons, which were composed of sweat bean paste in a shell of rice paste.
The chicken legs were still stretched out in the gutter when I returned to my bike.
I purchased sriracha sauce, me fruit candy (tamarind paste), and rice noodles. The shop keeper tried to sell me Chinese New Year cakes, wrapped in translucent green wax paper and red ribbons, which were composed of sweat bean paste in a shell of rice paste.
The chicken legs were still stretched out in the gutter when I returned to my bike.