Gavin's Last Day of Work

The pounding of the second hand echoed in Gavin's ears. A hammer lay at his feet. nearby, two spent double A batteries. His stomach was empty his pride was wounded.

He came to the city of dreams to be a movie star, but instead he was a joke. A chicken-suit wearing, sandwich-hocking fool for others to ridicule. Did Spencer Tracy where a chicken suit outside of Chic-a-fillet? Did james Stewart ever pass anyone a flier with chicken coupons?

His mouth was rusty with the taste of blood. That day a pack of chickens had gone on strike, demanding better treatment before they were slaughtered and eaten. They were carrying tiny picket signs and marched outside the restaraunt. The manager insisted he go to the sidewalk and do his duty. There was no other way. He walked into the picket line, amidst a great cackling and that head-bobbing theing that chickens do.

One big cock got up in his face, asking him why he could do this, it's so barbaric. Gavin tried to ignore him. he thought of Spencer Tracy, Paul Newman. His heroes would know what to do. Finally the cock pecked him, and the entire host of poultry descended upon him.

Now he was sitting in a chair, with a hammer at his feet and two spent double A batteries lying nearby. The shards of the remote control were in his bandaged hands. The nurse, Ronnie, wanted him to die without TV.