….sir…we don’t sell gizzards no more…., she stood at the register, what could I get for you?….

he pondered the $5 deals and scratched his goatee, you say no more gizzards….dat right?

yes sir, she couldn’t been more than eighteen, what could I get for ya?….

why you gotta rush me….why you be rushin’ me….I don’t like bein’ rushed….

sorry sir…didn’t mean to, a line was forming; nothing worse than angry people waiting for chicken….

and you ain’t got no more gizzards….dat right?….goddamn….you know we like gizzards and shit….

sorry sir….

I wants some gizzards….how ’bout you split up a chicken and fry me up some….

sir….I can’t do that….

den fuck this….

next….