<insert exposition> there I was returning from work on a Sunday. which means that mainly I just sit on a filthy chair in an equally filthy tram and my head rocks back and forth, or sideways, it depends on how badly damaged the rails are, and I go over my life and scream in my head: where did I go wrong? well, I’m exaggerating. most of the times my mind just goes blank. brain shutdown.
<cram in ‘rising action’ plus ‘climax’> but then the tram stopped at a crossroads, and I saw them, a giant chicken and a half-naked chili pepper doing some very weird (and probably banned in some countries) dance routine among speeding cars and dizzy pedestrians… the chili’s legs were coming out somehow askew from underneath that barely there outfit while it (?) was struggling to hold a piece of colored cardboard that said cheap pizza or something. and as the streets were becoming quieter and people were sinking back into indifference, the pair’s moves were getting frantic and desperate and vulgar.
<insert denouement> yeah, the sun was soaking everything in yellow light and small shriveled leaves were dancing around a pair of dirty trousers abandoned on the steps of an institution and the cooks at the diner on the corner were sweating among the clatter of dishes. a guy sitting on the sidewalk asked me if I had a cigarette. I said no. Looking at me with a slanting grin on his face, he spat: Fucked-up chicken, huh? I looked down quickly convinced I would see some huge red chicken feet bursting out of my shoes.