Eye of the Chicken
"Now that there is sure 400 goddamned chickens," the old timer said. "Ever seen so many?"
Evan was nonplussed. "Not in my car, no. Can't say that I have." He stared at birds, writhing against each other and the windshield and the airfreshener and Evan's cream-colored leather seats. "Now what?"
The old timer handed Evan a jumbo bottle of baby oil. "Now you get in there naked." It would be a long drive indeed.
Evan was nonplussed. "Not in my car, no. Can't say that I have." He stared at birds, writhing against each other and the windshield and the airfreshener and Evan's cream-colored leather seats. "Now what?"
The old timer handed Evan a jumbo bottle of baby oil. "Now you get in there naked." It would be a long drive indeed.
posted by Michael at 10:53 PM
3 Comments:
To be a bit bold- I think that these recent posts are the funniest ones yet, but I'm not sure that they really seem like last lines anymore. Many seem more like first lines, or perhaps just bizarre snapshots out of the middle of stories.
Hmmm...that IS bold. I might agree. I might have considered changing the name of the blog a few days ago, but decided against it, since that's a lot of work.
It's okay if some middles and beginnings get through now and then, I figure. Perhaps, we can imagine these are the last lines of stories told out of chronological order. Now that I've thought of that, I'm sure that's what they are! Yes! Postmodernist post-narrative post-chronology! That's the ticket!
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