‘Hey, Lonnie, some big old chicken gone and robbed the Kwik-Mart in Evansville.’
Wendy-May paused from laughing at the TV report only long enough to suck the remaining barbecue sauce from her chicken wing. It was the best they’d eaten in months. Even little Lonnie Jnr. was being treated to full fat milk instead of formula.
Lonnie returned with a fresh Bud from the cooler. He looked towards Wendy-May and scowled. ‘That’s no chicken, stupid woman. It’s a darned rooster, a rooster.’
‘Ok, honey bun. Sit down and drink your beer.’
Lonnie slumped into his armchair.
‘Were a rooster,’ he mumbled. ‘A rooster!’
These words form my entry into Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.