The apple never falls far from the tree Nanna Mae said. Jim agreed. The apple had fallen. But only half of him was rotten.
Stop shitting on my fuckin porch! Jim screams for the 100th time in a rage at the chickens that are still free-ranging as he doesn’t have the ability to build a run.
The chickens eye him back quizzically with their heads on the side. We are just chickens they say to each other. It’s just s**t. It’s not personal. s**t happens.
A fat, rusty-feathered chook starts to walk towards Jim. It has already forgotten the abuse and is looking for bugs again. Jim is stunned. Really? A chicken having the nerve to disobey him.
I said f**k off! Jim screams again, this time picking up his thong by the front door and hurling it like a knife just like the old man had shown
